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In the little planet Lucifram, that spun a brilliantand solitary course among the stars, exchangingannual salutations with them as the waxing andwaning of the solar laws brought them out of thevoid and within hail, the people each and all walkedupside down. The trees were upside down, thehouses, the churches with their steeples, the palaces,the oceans, rivers, lakes, mountains, animals, andfishes, each and all, reversed our own conceptionof mundane propriety. Cultivate a patience withthe seeming strangeness of this extraordinary planet,even to the reading of this simple book, and let thatvirtue lead you nearer to another sphere, more toyour liking.

There were a few, indeed, upon this sphere whodid their best to stand upon their feet. Sometimesthey succeeded; but others were bowled down inthe struggle and ended by standing once again upontheir heads, or lying crushed, paying the debt theyowed to Outraged Custom.

The circumference of this sphere was somethinglike two thousand miles. It bulged out towards thenorth and south, with giant hollows to the east10and west. And becauseeverything that existed wascontrary to our idea of things, all things lookednormal.

When Nature and architecture combine to alterthings, making them contrariwise, as people call it,what wonder if morality and all ethics blend withthe custom?

To begin with governments and kingships. Unlikethose upon a two-legged basis, a king was neverchosen for his worth, but for his frailties. He waschosen to strew the path of his subjects with flowerswhich all might pick like little children out at play,and then would quarrel over.

Alas! To be a king in the planet Lucifram! Thatlittle planet topsy-turvy. Here, though a rulermight have the will of a Hercules to turn a somersaltand land upon his feet, some diviner instinctcalling him to that, the pigmies around him pinnedhim with millions of tiny threads, an anchoragewhereby to hold his head safe to the ground.Threads worked in gold! Held for the wonder ofthe multitude.

So for the kings. The Gods of all the starslooked down on them. They heard those faintsighs of weakness—those breathings after higherthings—and pitied some, and smiled at others.And though in the topsy-turvy synagogues andchurches the people prayed for them, no prayersreached heaven except those simple few the kingsthemselves breathed in solitude. Prayers that musttravel very, very far, as all prayers must, and whichneeded the giant strength of great simplicity tobring them to the end of their weary journey.

So for the kings and princes. An arduous task11is theirs—bound thus with chains—God only knowshow hard! As each insidious little link mightwhisper, telling its own small share in the universaltale.

In our world we always speak of “Church andState”—a correct and steady way of speaking—butin Lucifram ’tis always “State and Church,” andthat is why the palaces and kings claimed ourattention first.

The Church, composed of temples, synagogues,and priests, jumbled together in luxurious profusion,was dressed and bedecked so finely that the Godthe people worshipped fell almost out of sight. Intheir chief temple, in the greatest city, was a three-tailedgolden Serpent, coiled around a golden poleabove a table decked in red, and set with incensevessels. Dim and mysterious was that holy place,where priests, all flowing and bedecked in goldengarments, came each day to bow before the Snake.Its three tails, the gold of them burnished like fire,spread out like fans on high, against a backgroundof mosaic. Below, resting on the altar, was the greathead, lying quite still; the genius of ages worked inits cruel fangs and awful eyes. Eyes never closing,jewel-glinting, green and fiery, all-surveying, all-watching.Those terrible eyes lit up the gloom,and compelled men to stand upon their heads asit itself was forced to do. For by the grim anddreadful fascination of those never-closing eyes,unconsciously the worshippers changed to positionlike to it, tails up, heads down, blinded by theirreligion.

In this temple the people sat in the big gloomyaisles, each on a little chair with a ledge in front for12kneeling, and heard the priest from the pulpit, andthe reader from his desk. Awed by the grandeurand the solemn dimness, they bowed and salaamedbefore the triune tails, hidden from the vulgar gazeby a red silk curtain blazoned in gold. And whenthe mighty organ rolled and rumbled, and the angelvoices of the choir boys rang through the gold-washedrafters, their senses were stirred by some far hiddenmystery, and their eyes would dim or kindle asthey felt it; only the gleaming eyes within theveil remained unchanged.

Now it was customary for the priests who waitedon the Serpent to fast a day each month and marryonly once. A layman in Lucifram might wedtwice. No priests could marry under forty. Forlaymen, the age was twenty-five for the first attempt,and forty for the second; that is, for the few whopreferred company in their latter years to peace.But though the women, by Act of Parliament, enjoyedthe privilege of marrying twice, just as the men did,there were certain things clearly beyond them, theybeing in Lucifram, as here, the weaker vessels. Onthose great days whereon the priest drew back thesilken curtain and displayed the Serpent, all womenwere debarred from entering the temple.

And so enough for an explanation and a prologue.Take my hand, descend, and tread on Lucifram!

In the capital of Lucifram there is a great park—acity park—planted with trees sown centuries sinceby the restless winds, when all was peaceful country.To the right stretches the city—work and pleasure,laughter and tears, and perpetual hurry-scurry. Allround the park sounds and sights of human life,condensed within a curiously small circle, were inevidence. Silent streets, tall and shadowy, lit byoccasional gas lamps, fringed on a brilliant thoroughfare,with omnibuses, cabs, and people hurryingeverywhere. Most spacious squares, with fountainsand statues, backed by huge buildings, erected bothfor grace and durability, lay on all sides. Themansions on this side of the park were in manycases of plain exterior. This gave the lie to themagnificence within. On the right side of the park,facing it and running along its entire length, wasbuilt the famous Greensward Avenue.

In the centre of the avenue, standing back underthe shadow of the high walls of two palace gardensrising on either side, stood a large square house builtof black marble. It was built in black, and theblinds were of deep red, the only colour to relieveit. Those were not visible till night came. Thirteenimposing-looking steps lead up to an imposing door,in black polished oak, rarely carved. Two narrow14windows in the wall reached down on each side ofit. The house consisted of three storeys and abasement, and to the back were pretty and extensivegardens protected by high walls.

The owner of this house was a certain CamilleBarringcourt, who had but lately come there, withinthe last three years. With the exception of servants,he lived quite alone—a bachelor in the land ofdouble marriages.

Now the house in which he lived was veryappropriately called “Marble House.” It had beenbuilt by a millionaire quite recently, despite its oldappearance. The reason why it had such an appearanceof age was because it had been erected froma spoiled cathedral in the remotest corner ofLucifram, where instead of worshipping the Serpentthey worshipped the Toad. It had cost a vastamount of money to cart the marble and oak rightover from east to west, but it was done rightroyally, and the house itself, from this point of viewat least, was very interesting. No sooner was thegreat mansion completed, and royalty entertainedon one single occasion, than the millionaire died.Men and women agreed on this, that his death wasat least mysterious. He was found dead in bed.So far as the doctors could tell he suffered fromnothing, and had come by no foul play. He haddied painlessly, in the big plain bed-chamber containinglittle else but the desecrated altar of theToad, with a fac-simile of the Serpent rising aboveit—a shrine which all good people in Lucifram keptin their private rooms. And so he was buried, andthe ladies mourned. He had been generous. Andthen his will was read.

15All his vast wealth was given to charities; allwent to charity except the house. That was left“To my friend, Camille Barringcourt, as a slighttoken of esteem, and in remembrance of the past.”That was all. No one had ever heard or seen anythingof this friend, and no one knew anything ofthe past. But lawyers, like detectives, have a way ofhunting people up. In a little time it was spreadabroad that Camille Barringcourt lived in Fairysky,or at least was staying there, a country whichmuch resembled Italy on the Earth.

It may also be mentioned here that CamilleBarringcourt and the lawyer were left executorsof those vast charities.

The first thing about the new-comer’s arrival thatexcited general interest was the advent of six horses.All were black as night, with long tails, fiery eyes,shining coats, and tossing, untamed heads.

Nearly all the little boys in that aristocraticneighbourhood were late for school that morning;or better, never went. Accustomed as they wereto beautiful horses, they had never even in theirexperience seen anything to equal these. Thesix black horses travelled through the crowdedthoroughfares singly led, each by a groom. Theirtrappings were of a deep red, and no unnecessaryweight was placed upon them. The men who ledthe animals were men who understood theirbusiness, and had great patience with theircoquettish, curvetting ways. Just as the journeywas drawing to a close the traffic in the streetswas for the minute stopped. Five of the sixhorses had passed the crossing, and the last wasdrawn up close to Lady Flamington’s carriage.16Whether it was her ladyship’s hat (she was oneof the best dressed and most beautiful women ofthe day), or whether her two thoroughbreds wereready to enter into the fun of the thing, and dancea lively impromptu pirouette with the new arrival,it would be hard to say. However, the blacksteed began a dance, anything but safe in thestate of the crowded thoroughfare, and the baysin harness did their best to follow suit. It wasa spirited attempt; then the groom for once losthis temper.

“Get up, you devil!” said he. The horse tookhim literally and reared up, despite his efforts tokeep it down, dragging him with it, in itswild, untamable fury. The trampling forepawsstruck on the cushions of my lady’s brougham.What might have been the result it is impossibleto say, for her escape on the other side was cut offby a huge lorry drawn up against her like a wall,but just at that moment a voice fell on the hubbuband the consternation, and the “voice that breathedo’er Eden” on the day of her marriage had neverbeen so welcome to Lady Flamington as that onenow. At the same time a hand, the whitest, themost beautiful she had ever seen (so she told herfriends after), grasped at the bridle.

“Waugh-o, Starlight—Starlight! Come, then.”

The words, the tone, the caressing hand on oneside, the firm hand on the bridle, were too muchfor the four-legged beauty. Won over by morewords, more pressure on the hateful bit (eventhough silver), and more caressing patting on herglossy neck, she came gracefully down to earthonce more.

17It seemed to Lady Flamington that the strangerhad sprung up from nowhere. As a matter offact, he had sprung from the hansom behind,in which he was following, at almost walking pace,these six prancing treasures. Then just as thetraffic was starting again he looked across at her.

“You are not hurt,” said he. “I should have beenbitterly sorry if that had happened.”

For once her ladyship could find no words. Shebowed, he raised his hat, the procession moved along.Then she knitted her brows thoughtfully.

“He should have been sorry in either case,” shethought, and fell to studying his face in her memory.

Meanwhile the six black horses had turned intoGreensward Avenue, where likewise at a quicker rateher ladyship’s carriage was progressing.

All the way to the spacious private stables at therear of the private grounds, Mr. Barringcourt, for itwas he, led that most spoiled of all spoilt animals,Starlight. The little boys followed admiringly, tillthe big doors of the stable-yard closed cruelly uponthem.

“That looks like a dook turned undertaker,” saidone.

Rumour had spread a report that Camille Barringcourtwas a twice married gentleman, with a largefamily.

“How unlike poor Geoffrey Todbrook,” said theladies, and sighed.

But rumour for once was entirely wrong. Onebachelor was dead; another succeeded him.

The new arrival settled quickly into his new home.Seeing it was already furnished, that was but natural.His servants were all foreigners, dark, tall, all very18unlike the people on this side of Lucifram. Yetthere was an inexpressible charm, dignity, and quietrepose about them that delighted and mystifiedeveryone. Among them were some women, parlourmaids,sewing-maids, and housemaids apparently.

Each one of these servants, men and women,dressed in black, faced with deep red. It was a kindof uniform.

Now, a few words are needed as to the personalappearance of the Master himself. In figure he wastall, athletic, graceful, broad-shouldered. His hairwas black and short, crisp at the ends, as LadyFlamington noticed when he removed his hat.People called his face “odd.” It was dark andswarthy, with a strong forehead, and black eyeswhich were gloomy and deeply set. The nose wasstraight, bearing in its lines more sensitive refinementthan any other feature of his face.

When he smiled he showed, though not obtrusively,a sparkle of white and even teeth. WhenLady Flamington admired the beauty of his handsshe was within the right. For strength and supplenessthey would be hard to beat, and for whitenessalso. This then, in short, was the figure of CamilleBarringcourt, come to dispense the charity of hisfriend of the past; come to settle in Marble House,of Greensward Avenue.

Lady Flamington, some dozen houses off, persuadedher first and only husband to call there,soon after the arrival. He did so, hoping to seethe fine black horses she had spoken of. Horsefleshwas his hobby. He saw the gentleman, butnothing else in the way of interest, took a suddenfancy to him, and invited him over to dinner on19Friday night. The invitation was as suddenlyaccepted. Sir James went home with some misgivings.He didn’t know whether his wife likedswarthy men; she was fastidious. His wife hadno objection to them. She was delighted towelcome any of his friends, except turf acquaintancesand bookmakers.

On Friday night Mr. Barringcourt came. It wasa little formal affair, one or two of the familycircle and an intimate friend. The stranger satbeside his hostess for dinner, and they talkedcommonplaces. At last she turned to him with apretty grace.

“You have not yet demanded my thanks,” saidshe.

“For what?” he asked.

“You know for what.”

“Your thanks would necessitate my apologies.”

“I am surprised you never offered them.”

“It was unnecessary.”

“There I must confess to some curiosity. Doyou remember you said to me, ‘You are not hurt.’”

“Well?” said he, and smiled—a smile all themore charming as he bent his head to hers.

“Well!” she retorted. “I was hurt; your horsefrightened me. To be frightened is to be hurt.Can you dispute it?”

“I never saw anyone stand pain better. Yourface was a vision of—of—”

“Of what?” she asked.

“I do not understand your language very well,as yet. I shall improve in it; you must be patient.In a week or two I shall have found the word Ineed.”

20“And till then?”

“Learn to be gracious to a poor speaker.”

“Ah! But I do not intend to let you off so easily.After telling me I was not hurt, you next proceededto say, ‘In that case you would have been deeplysorry’—you see my memory is good. Now, am Ito understand that under the circumstances youfelt no sorrow?”

“Most certainly.”

“Now we shall quarrel, unless you can explainyourself.”

“Is it necessary?”

“You shall discover how much so if you do notexplain your meaning instantly.”

“Then do not blame me if I sink still deeper intothe mire. Under the circumstances, I was not sorry.I had been told on coming to this country I shouldfind all the women forward—most of them ugly—theremainder plain. After three days’ lookinground me I had come to the same conclusion.Suddenly by the merest chance my eyes lightedon you. Can you wonder I should feel no sorrow?”

She frowned, then laughed, and looked at him.

“Where did you learn this grossest form offlattery?”

“I see your ladyship has no education toappreciate the truth.”

“Talk to my husband about horses. I have nomore to say to you.”

“Is he a lover of horses?”

“Yes. He attends every Race Meet in thecounty.”

Mr. Barringcourt smiled. “That speaks for itself,”he said.

Let us pay a call on Cinderella.

Alas! not a Cinderella with a prince and gorgeousclothing, but one without a tongue, or rather, tongue-tied.

Rosalie Paleaf, for that was her name, lived alonewith an aunt and uncle. Both her parents were dead.She was pretty, of that fair delicate type called“picturesque.” Her hair was of a palish yellowtint, glossy, but straight; her skin was fair anddelicate. The eyes were grey, with dark curlinglashes, and delicately marked brows. Her noseturned up just the least little bit, the most charmingupward, delicate little curve in the wrong directionit would be possible to meet. The corners of hermouth, however, turned down with the saddest, mostwistful droop imaginable. In fact, there was onlyone feature in her face that kept it from becomingmost woefully pathetic, and that was the little,inquisitive, life-enjoying nose. To come back toher eyes for finishing touches. Their greyness wasvery pale. The pupils generally were large, with anequally black rim along the edge of the iris. Insidethis rim the colour gradually paled to the pupil,which gave her eyes a curiously bright appearance.And then being tongue-tied! She had nothing shecould talk with but her eyes, and so she used them.

22Uncle and aunt were very kind to her. Whoindeed could help being that? She was the gentlest,kindest creature, harmless and very helpless, withthe sweetest face, the happiest manner, and sunniestsmile upon occasions.

They were people of moderate circumstances in avery quiet way, and if Rosalie had not the hardestwork of the house to do, it was because her auntalways insisted on doing it, with the help of anoccasional charwoman. And so, when very young,she learnt to hem, and dust, and do the toasting.Later she got promoted to wiping tea-things, thendinner dishes, and ended as a fully-fledged younghousekeeper, ready to bake and cook, darn, andmake and mend, to sweep and dust, and do all workthat is useful.

Beyond this her education had not progressed.She could read and write, ’tis certain, but very littlemore. Accomplishments were beyond the means ofher relations, and had they not been it would neverhave struck them a child apparently quite dumbshould need such things. So she stayed at home andwas happy, except in the company of strangers, whenher sad defect made itself felt under their pityingglances of surprise, however well they might try toconceal them.

But a child’s happiness often constitutes a woman’smisery. As the years passed by Rosalie began tofeel her loneliness, her utter incapacity for the workof the world. She felt also something deeper,stronger, more unwordable. It was more real thananything else in her life, yet, because unseen, it wasunsympathised with as having no existence. Andso, although her happiness was gradually becoming23overshadowed, she never fully recognised it till oneOctober evening when she had turned twenty.

To look at Rosalie the spectator would never havetaken her for that age. All her life had been spentin one long silent dream—the privilege of childhood.

It was the kind of autumn evening made forthought and sadness. The sky was very clear, witha suspicion of purple in it, and the gold of ages wasin the west. As she stood by her bedroom windowlooking out at it, there came that terrible forebodingof sadness and sorrow that seems to do its best tocrush young hearts, though perhaps it only mouldsthem.

And along with it came a longing for expansion,a weariness of the endless routine, the companionlesssilence and that nameless thirst after something, sheknew not what. How could Rosalie, walking in themist, having no speech or utterance, explain it evento herself? She wanted something, the purple of thesky suggested something—suggested, nothing more.And from that day forward the nameless longinggrew, settling itself within her heart, finding nohappier outside quarters. I do not know that shelooked thinner or more frail, her physical strengthwas too great for that. No one beyond herself knewof the longing, and she attributed it all to discontent,and tried to stifle it.

At last one evening she understood. Theinordinate longing for speech rushed over her.

But how to manage it? It is all very well to findout what you want to do—but how to do it? Therewas only one way—only one way, at any rate, thatsuggested itself to her, and that way was prayer.

Now, her religious education had not been exactly24neglected, but Rosalie was one of those heedlesscreatures who hear a little and invent a great deal.

She had been told with great piety by her auntof the great golden Serpent, its wonderful power,its relentless cruelty to those who crossed or vexedit, its generosity to those who did as they were told,and from those few rudimentary remarks she hadbuilt up a little golden temple of her own, quite anunseen spiritual affair, in which to worship theSupreme Being of Lucifram. She certainly gaveto the gorgeous Serpent many qualifications she hadnever been told it possessed, but what of that? Shewas but a poor, helpless creature at best. But witha reverent, far-away love she had always worshippedthe Serpent, although as a sex she had been givento understand he reckoned her somewhat inferior.

But now, sitting up in bed, there came to her oneof those terrible convictions, never to be misplaced,that are in themselves the sheerest madness or thesheerest sanity, that she must get her tongue untied.And the Serpent, being the strongest of all powerson Lucifram, was the likeliest to do it.

Next afternoon at five o’clock saw Rosalie kneelingin the famous temple, her head buried in herhands, praying in the silence as only sincerity andhelplessness can pray.

“Oh, Serpent, give me my tongue! Let me talk,”said she, a most natural request when coming froma woman.

Then she went home quite comforted, as only thesimple can be.

“One does not pray for nothing,” she thought“I feel the Serpent heard me.”

And that night she was so happy, she did not25notice her uncle’s troubled look and silent way. Shedid not mean to be selfish, she was thinking purelyof her prayer.

Some weeks went by, and every day she walkedto the temple and prayed:

“Oh, Serpent, give me my tongue! Let metalk.”

But no answer came to her prayer, and at last shegot tired of kneeling down among the empty pews.The building was so big that she felt quite far away,so she picked up her courage and went up the bigaisle, right up through the choir stalls to the stepsrising towards the altar, hidden by the curtains. Itwas legitimate for any woman to go so far. She wasperfectly within her right. So she went up the stepsand knelt down quietly beside the golden railing.

And there she prayed to the unseen Serpent—prayed,and believed it heard her. Then she wenthome. How near she had been to that UnseenPower! How fervently she had prayed! TheSerpent always answered prayer, always looked afterthe helpless.

On going home her ring at the door was answeredby a neighbour with a white face and swollen eyes.

What was the matter?

An hour ago, soon after she went out, her unclehad been brought home after a stroke. Since thenhe had died, just after the arrival of the doctor.

Rosalie sank back against the lobby wall, herhands by her sides, her eyes filled with horror.

“Your aunt is upstairs in the back bedroom,” saidthe neighbour, who had told the story as quietly asshe could, as gently as its tragedy allowed.

Rosalie pulled herself together and went upstairs,26trying the bedroom door at the back. It opened, andshe was thankful. Her aunt sat in a chair, her headburied in the pillow of the one spare bed. Rosaliewent to her and touched her shoulder. The elderwoman moved slowly, and then sat up, smoothingher grey hair.

“I’ve been here long enough,” she said dully. “Imust go and see to things. Sit here, Rosalie. Itisn’t for you to be about.”

Her dull grief repelled all sad advances. Fromthe time that Rosalie found her lying there crampedagainst the bed she showed no further signs ofweakness, no further signs of giving in, till the funeralwas over.

Then when the blinds were drawn up once more,and the November light had flooded the room, shetook her foster daughter in her arms and wept asonly a broken-hearted woman growing old can weep.

“We went to school together,” she said at last,twisting her wet soiled handkerchief around herfingers. After that she scarcely mentioned herhusband again.

But now time showed a great difference in thelittle household, in addition to its greatest loss.Money troubles and worry, of late months thickeningominously, had helped to bring about the suddenend. There were no more happy meals at tea-time,no bread to toast, nothing but the barest, rudenecessities of life. For they were poor, so poor thatthey scarcely knew how to look the future in theface. Both were very helpless.

The elder woman in a few short months had grownold, shrunken, and thin. She tried at times to smilebravely, to take interest in life and neighbours, but27life and interest had gone for her in the old playfellowand life love. And more and more each daysince her uncle’s death Rosalie felt the want of speech.She could give none of that bright assistance thatwas needed. No better than a living shadow she wasbound to go about the house. Yet still she went tothe temple to pray in humility and faithfulness.

And then, as the spring came round, she heardvague, disquieting rumours of the little house beingshut up. Her aunt was going to live with a marriedbrother, whose wife had little in common with her,and she herself, Rosalie, was to be sent to a Homefor the Deaf and Dumb and Blind, a large charitableinstitution, greatly enlarged and improved upon bythe munificence of a dead millionaire, one GeoffreyTodbrook by name. Insufferable thought! Toseparate her from the only human being she hadlearnt to love, shutting them each within a dungeonof strangers! “O God! O Serpent!” Whatof the prayer of months, to give one atom in themultitude the powers of speech? Prayer of presumption!Its punishment the taking away of everythingthat makes some lives worth living, the precious giftof freedom.

And yet Rosalie set her lips hard, there was nodrooping, and went once more, with faith supremelyhigh, but heart all wrong and tortured, to kneel andpray to God within the temple.

The afternoon was cold and gloomy, and by thetime Rosalie reached the temple the little light thatever came there had quite died away. There wereno Americans in Lucifram, no English tourists either,consequently the sacred building from morn to evewas silent as the grave except for matins and forevensong. But evensong was held at seven, and nowit was but four.

Rosalie’s heart was in that terrible state of achingwhich approaches physical pain. Speechless, sheknew herself quite helpless.

For lack of speech she must be separated from onewho had suddenly grown more helpless than herself,one whom she could not bear to part with, one whohad grown accustomed to her great defect, and hadnever labelled on the door those words: “Home forthe Blind—the Deaf—the Dumb—Incurables.”

“Once I get inside there I am dumb for ever,” shecried to herself, as she stumbled up the darkeningaisle. “Oh, I cannot go—I cannot! I want to livelike other people. To be free—free—free!”

And so she knelt down beside the altar railings,and buried her face in her hands against its goldenbars.

“Oh, Serpent, let me speak! Give me a tonguelike other people have. I cannot go to that asylum—I29cannot really. I cannot live without my aunt.We are all in all to each other. What good am Iif I remain a speechless log? I might as well bedead.”

No answer. Darkness and silence. That was all.The impenetrable hardness of it sank to Rosalie’sheart. Suddenly she got up and looked roundcautiously, with pale face and dark-rimmed eyes.There was no noise. Nothing moved in the emptybuilding save herself. Silent and trembling, she tooka step forward inside the railing, then another, andher hand touched the crimson curtain. Again shelooked around, assured herself again that she wasquite alone, silently drew back the heavy fold andstepped within. The lights upon the altar, burningby day and night, changed the dull gloom to brightness.Her wandering, awe-struck gaze fell full uponthe Serpent, its head and jewelled eyes all shiningunderneath the slowly swinging lights.

Here, then, was the hidden God that all thingsworshipped. This was the God who punished some,rewarded others, and wore the creeds of ages on itsthree-pronged tail. Her eyes were dazzled by thebrilliancy, but the Serpent’s wisdom gleaming fromthose curious eyes attracted her.

“Give me what I want! Give me what I want!”she whispered, and stretched out her white arms tillher hands had clasped behind the Serpent’s head.Then she leant forward and pressed her lips againstthe cruel, hardened, lifeless fangs, and whispered yetagain:

“Give me what I want—just so that I may serveyou!”

As silently she unclasped her fingers, rising to her30feet. She passed down the three steps leading fromthe altar, and became aware, with beating heart andsudden tumultuous fear, that she had been watched.

For, stepping from the side way, came a stranger,stopping her progress outward to the other side ofthe veil.

“What is it that you want?” he said.

In his eyes there shone the priceless worth ofwisdom’s jewels, giving them in their brilliantexpression something of the same impenetrable lightthe Serpent’s had.

Rosalie became confused, and mixed the twotogether. How could she help it, seeing both hadcome together? But no words were there for utterance.She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes tohis face—eyes that had grown in sadness and inbeauty throughout a lifetime—and then she shookher head.

“Dumb?” said he.

She nodded.

“Is that what you came to pray about?”

Again she nodded. She looked up at him, andher eyes sank. After all, it was the secret of a life,for none knew of these daily visits to the temple, andnow a stranger had discovered it—the secret whichhad been guarded so jealously all these years.

“And you come in here to pray often?”

She shook her head vehemently, and pointedoutside.

“I see. You stay outside?”

Again she nodded.

Then he held the curtain aside, and she passed out,he following her.

The church without was black.

31Rosalie gave a muttered cry of dismay—thebuilding was so large, its pews, and steps, andlabyrinths all so intricate. But her companion produceda light that glowed like a thin taper, but burntwith a clearer and a stronger light, and plainly litthe church around them.

“Never trust to the church to give you light,” saidhe whimsically, “unless, as now, you penetrate tothe Holy of Holies!”

Rosalie smiled; she felt it was but polite,unaccustomed as she was to strangers.

Together they walked down the long aisle, andonce she stole a glance up at him sideways, withgreat curiosity, to see what he was like. But thestranger was looking at her, and she bent her headdownward again. She evidently did not possess thegift of sweet unconsciousness of self.

“I presume you wished to come away?” he said atthe end of their journey, before he opened the heavydoors.

She nodded.

Then he laid his hand upon her shoulder.

“The Serpent must be very cruel and hardened ifhe withstand such a prayer as that you offered.”

There was more amusement than pity in hisvoice and expression. Rosalie felt, but did notunderstand it. Never had anyone in her narrowlife been able to put so much expression into a merehand-touch. In gratitude she could have taken andkissed it many times.

They passed out on to the high steps leading fromthe temple. The rain was coming down in torrents.The street lamps glistened through it, and thepassers-by were infrequent.

32“How are you going home?” he said. The outsideworld seemed to have separated them.

She pointed to her feet.

“Walking? Well, hurry and don’t get wet. Itwould be a pity to spoil the prayer by leaving notime for its fulfilment. Good-night!”

Then he moved away a step or two, and shestopped to put up her umbrella. Suddenly, however,he turned round, and came with quick stridestoward her.

“See, here is my card. When you have madeheadway with the Serpent, and received an answer toyour prayer, come and see me!”

And he scribbled on the back of the card “AdmitBearer,” and then handed it to her, once more leavingher standing on the steps.

Then Rosalie, having succeeded in getting up theumbrella, and gathering up her skirts, turned in thedirection of home. It was a walk of about twentyminutes, and all the way she thought of the stranger,of his interesting face, deep eyes and mellow voice,his hand laid so kindly on her shoulder. She remembered,also, that sudden perceptible change whenoutside the church, a mixture of harshness andcoldness and pride, more shown in his manner thanhis words.

“I wonder what he was doing inside the curtain?”she thought. “Perhaps he had gone there to praylike me. I hope I did not disturb him.” Then shesighed. “He looked a rich man, and he could saywhatever he wanted to. There could be nothing hewas wanting half so much as I.”

On reaching home she was met by her aunt. Assoon as they were seated at the frugal tea, the lady33explained that a Mr. Ellershaw, an acquaintance ofher dead husband, had called that afternoon to seeher. On hearing how matters stood, and the separationthat was imminent, he had told her of a post ofcaretaker he knew to be vacant, where the work wasto look after a large building in the city let out inflats to different business men. There would be acertain amount of work to do in connection withthis—and he did not know whether either of themwould care for such a post; but it was there if theywished. It would ensure them living together, fourrooms in the topmost storey. Rosalie looked acrossher tea-cup and nodded her head eagerly.

“You like such a prospect?” her aunt askedquietly.

She nodded again.

“It will be very hard work, and I am not asstrong as I used to be.”

Rosalie held out her hands and looked at themtriumphantly. Then she pointed to herself, andsmiled.

“You think you could undertake some of it?”

So together they wrote a letter accepting the post,and a week later left their old home, with all itsmemories and associations, to settle in a fifth storeydwelling amongst the skylights.

Rosalie felt her prayer in part was answered. Theywere not to be separated after all. Hard as thework might be, it meant freedom and the companyshe loved. She was content, went to the temple,knelt humbly and returned thanks. Then she wenton praying for a voice with a faith born of simplicityand her own idea of God.

One day a priest found her praying there. He34inquired the cause. Like the stranger, he was notlong in finding it. He put his hand upon her head,and blessed her in the name of the Serpent’s threetails. Then he went back to the priests’ lodgings,and kept his story for supper. He was a jolly man,of the earth earthy, and his idea of the Serpent wasthat his golden coils were lucrative. The priest wasnot bad-hearted; he was simply mediocre. But hehad a sense of humour—and who, indeed, but thesoured and stupid have not?—and the idea of a girlkneeling by the altar railings (he had never seen her,as on that one unique occasion, step beyond) prayingpersistently to be allowed to talk when plainly shewas physically beyond it tickled his sense of funniness.He laughed and shook till the tears ran downhis face.

“And she believes it—that’s the biggest joke,” hecried. “Believes that if she prays long enough theSerpent will weary or turn merciful, and fulfil herprayer.”

“According to our history of the past, with itswonders and miracles, that is not so impossible as itseems,” said one, more thoughtfully.

“She’d best jump back a hundred year or two,and cap one miracle by another, then,” remarked athird.

“What did you say to her, James Peter?” asked afourth.

“Oh, I blessed her, and prayed to the Serpent tolook serious, and the request was granted. ’Twas amiracle on a small scale, I can assure you. I couldhave roared right out.”

“What is she like to look at?” put in a fifth.

“Pretty—sad-looking—just the sort of woman to35get an idea. That is the sort we can’t afford toquarrel with. They tip so handsomely on Sundays.”

“Little or tall?”

“Oh, tall! Medium, at any rate. Couldn’t smile ifshe tried. Sacred liver of the Serpent! What a sermonfor one of you fellows with a love of sentiment topreach on Sunday.”

“Wait till the woman is made whole, and sittingin the congregation. Then our fortunes are secured,”said another drily.

And in this respect the priests of the Serpent werevery different from our own. Amongst themselvesthey never acted the hypocrite—the heathen idolaters!

So next day, when Rosalie went to pray, one ortwo passed in and out silently to behold the phenomenon.After a time they grew accustomed, andtook no further notice of her. After all, a womanmight as well spend her time in an attitude of humbledevotion. Experience generally proved those tomake the best sort of wives.

Rosalie and her aunt had been established a littleover six months in the new home, and the work wasso hard and unaccustomed that it was beginning totell on both of them.

The older woman was little better than a breakdownbefore she came, and gradually without muchcomplaint, but growing silence, she sank into the bedof weakness more. It was a sickness from whichshe never rose.

She had been too old to face these sudden changes,was not made of the stuff that endures, or not enduring,fights. So then this cloud had only risen inmockery to sink the heavier. Where was Rosalie’sprayer of love and thanksgiving?

36The last week of her aunt’s illness was very strangeand unreal to Rosalie—strange and unreal when,after the second funeral within a year, she sat alonein the little empty four-roomed storey.

Her hands, roughened, though not coarsened, byhard work, were clasped between her knees. Herhead had sunk forward on her breast, her open eyessaw nothing.

Vaguely she hoped that she might be the next togo, thought of her prayer for speech, and dashed thebitter tears from her dull eyes. What of her prayer?Perhaps to the Serpent it sounded nothing more thanclamorous presumption and self-will.

Again she had been offered the shelter of theHome for Deaf and Dumb by those who recognisedher sad position. Was she ungrateful? Many poorwaifs there were, she knew, in that great city, withnone to help them to the scantiest food andshelter.

“I can’t believe you’re either kind or just, and I won’tpray to you any more!” she cried inwardly, jumpingup fiercely at last. “I wasn’t made to be withouta tongue. I wasn’t! I wasn’t! You haven’t thepower to give me one; that’s what it really is.”

But no bricks and mortar fell to punish such anoutburst.

“What have I done that I should be left herealone?” she continued. “I want to go along withaunt and uncle. You know I do. I can’t live herealone.”

But there was no answer. Gradually a calmerspirit came over her, together with a wish to find outthat sphinx-like secret that wrapped itself in icysilence.

37“What’s the good of making me want to talk ifyou won’t let me?” she asked.

Out of the vast silence a voice seemed to shapeitself at last.

“Give up! Sacrifice!” it said.

It was such a very beautiful voice, and yet so verycold, that Rosalie shrank from it. Sacrifice was sucha heathenish thing! Besides, what was there tosacrifice in the way of a tongue—she hadn’t got one,not a serviceable one, at any rate.

“The Serpent’s will comes first with all believers,”cried the same voice out of the silence.

“I wish we could agree,” said Rosalie, with nodisrespect, and then fell a-thinking.

Yes. After all, it came to the old, old thing.A clashing of wills—one human, one divine—if suchit could be called. And therein lay the only sacrificethat God or the Serpent ever needed. It meant thesacrifice of will.

Slowly and clearly the truth unfolded itself. If herfaith were pure and unselfish, she must be willing togive up longing and praying for that which wasbeyond her, and still love and serve the Serpent evenwithout reward.

And to what path did her duty point? Thethankful acceptance of a shelter that was offered, agentle surrender without bitterness into God’s hands.An ending of a prayer He thought fit not to answer.

It meant a great deal to Rosalie. The priest hadlaughed at her simpleness in expecting the performanceof a miracle. Perhaps would all else had theyheard it; but to her it was a very real thing, theoutcome of real belief, that left a shattered feeling ofdisappointment when the ending came.

38“I thought the Serpent always answered prayerwhen it was real,” she said, and felt suddenly likeone moving uncertainly in unknown lands amongsta host of strangers.

The time was drawing round to autumn again, andnow that her aunt had been removed, arrangementswere being made for her going. Within the week,she had been told, she would go the Home. Thosewho had interested themselves on her behalf did notlike to think of the lonely girl. The doctor who hadattended the aunt and uncle had very kindly madeit his business to remove all delays, such as oftentook place for those who were admitted.

Another woman, older and stronger, and moreaccustomed to the work, was engaged. She hadbeen there for some time before her aunt’s death.Rosalie, in this new and quiet mood, recognised thekindness that had been shown to her on all sides.But though she was truly thankful, she could raise noenthusiasm. The next day, when afternoon came,she dressed herself as carefully as her worn clotheswould allow, and went once more towards thetemple.

But with what different feelings! For two yearspast she had gone always with the same earnestprayer, with no doubt of its acceptance, and now shewas going to give up the prayer and everything thatmade her life worth living.

It was just such another wet, dull day as that ayear ago when, with excess of feeling, she had drawnaside the sacred curtain and stept within the HolyPlace.

To-day, as usual, she went and knelt beside therailings. All was growing dark. The same silence,39the same utter emptiness, pervaded the temple now,as then. Now, as then, the great longing seized herto pass within the veil. So silently she rose, drewback the curtain stealthily, and stept within. TheSerpent’s steadfast gaze demanded her first glance.Then she looked round, but perceived no stranger.Assured, she ascended the steps and knelt beside thegorgeous table. With tenderness and love, the outcomeof simplicity and pure devotion, she claspedher hands once more about the Serpent’s head,kneeling before it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her lips close to theterrible mouth. “I made a god of my own tongueinstead of you. But now I understand. And, oh!Serpent, teach me the right way to live, and keep mefrom growing bitter.”

Then, as before, she imprinted a light kiss, tenderand loving, on the unkissable mouth, and silentlybowed her head some minutes on the table.

Then on a sudden Rosalie rose, her eyes wideopen, and stared at the golden god. They stared inwonderment, but growing understanding. The lightof dawning wisdom was in her eyes.

One minute, two minutes, three, passed away.She turned round suddenly, emerged into the church,dark now as once before about a year ago. A lightwas in her hand; she cared not how she came by it,but partly knew.

A priest from one of the choir stalls was watchingher, with a feeble candle in his hand.

He called out “Treason! Blasphemy!” to see awoman thus emerge from behind the sacred curtain.It was James Peter.

Rushing forward, he slipped over a footstool, and40fell down heavily. His light was extinguished. Downthe vast aisle, with the lightness of a spirit, Rosalieran. Her eyes were laughing, a flush was on heronce pale cheek.

James Peter, rising, followed her. He puffed andgroaned at every priestly step.

But when the door was open she turned andnodded to him in the distance. The door closed.He was in darkness. He had followed solely uponher light.

Not till the lights were brought for Evensong didhe extricate himself from the toils of the massivebuilding. Then he told his tale.

“I tell you she turned round at the door and calledto me ‘Bon soir, monsieur! Adieu!’” he cried forthe third time to his companions.

“Good Lord! What does it mean?” said one.

“Was she not dumb?” asked a second.

“As dumb as the Serpent!” replied James Peter.“She went into the Holy Place, and is cured.”

“A woman in the Holy Place!”

“Yes! I called ‘Blasphemy!’ but the damnedfootstool tripped me! Had it not been for that Ihad caught her and brought her up before the greatHigh Priest.”

“A footstool tripped you!”

“Don’t speak so sneeringly, brother Thomas John.I said a footstool tripped me.”

“And you lost the woman?”

“What could I do without a light?”

“Strike matches.”

“I followed her eyes till the door closed, and forgotabout them. Besides, not being a smoker, I nevercarry any.”

41“Did you say you found a woman in the HoliestPlace?” asked others, crowding round.

“I did not find her there, I saw her coming out.”

“Coming out! And never stopped her?”

“No!”

“But we must find her. What is her address?”

“I don’t know. What’s the punishment when wehave found her?”

“In olden times it was to have her tongue torn outby the roots.”

“But the Serpent had just given her one, I tell you.”

“Nowadays, I expect, the punishment will bemodified. Strict silence on penalty of death, maybe.”

“But if the Serpent has given her a tongue, whothen dare take it away?”

“How has the Serpent given her one?”

“I tell you, before she was dumb.”

“Impossible! No woman was ever so afflicted—worseluck!”

“I tell you she was dumb, and is cured. She saidto me at the door, ‘Bon soir, monsieur. Adieu!’Very pretty words,” and he mimicked the tone andgesture.

“This is sheer madness. There is no sense in thewords!” cried another.

“Is it necessary for women to speak sense?”asked James Peter.

All the others laughed. He looked dangerous.And so they talked, and all gesticulated. But themistake was on the part of James Peter—in part, atleast.

He never heard the lady speak. It was his ownimagination which coined strange words withoutmeaning.

Rosalie outside the temple never paused, apparently,to think. She did not take the direction of her oldhome, but flew on as if scarcely touching the groundtowards that portion of the city where lay themansions and the ancient park. The usuallycrowded streets were almost deserted, the rain keptwayfarers within doors. Nothing hindered her rapidmovements onward.

Greensward Avenue was one long vista of shiningpavements, dripping trees, and glistening streetlamps. Here and there brighter lights shone fromthe entrances to houses. But on Rosalie sped tillshe came to the central house, which stood a littleback behind high iron palings.

The door had two leaves, and opened inward fromthe centre. There was a vestibule beyond, and thenanother double door of thickest glass, polished andcut to shine like diamonds. Above the hall doora deep red lamp was burning, which cast its lightwell out into the street. The only furniture withinthe vestibule was a broad chair of oak, and a massiveumbrella stand all carved with hideous faces, veryancient, no doubt, but not exactly beautiful.

Rosalie noticed these as she stood on the top steptouching the bell, and because each face was veryfascinating she would have continued looking at43them had not the inner door opened upon theinstant.

It was not a creaking door. It opened noiselesslyand swiftly, and in the doorway stood a man.

He had none of the superabundant dignitygenerally associated with the servants in rich houses.His hair was not powdered, his dress was plain, andblack.

Rosalie, so swift and impetuous until now, came toa standstill. She looked at him, and he at her. Shehad no voice with which to explain her errand, andsuddenly remembered her only chance of admittancethere was the card. For it was to Marble Houseshe had come, the house of the man whom she hadmet in the temple just a year ago.

“What is it that you want?” he asked. Thesewere the exact words with which she had beengreeted by the master.

Then she remembered the card was hidden awayin the bosom of her dress in a little silken bag shehad made in an idle moment for it months ago.She must produce it, that was evident, and trustto Providence to do the rest. She turned roundtowards the many-headed umbrella stand, and beganto extricate the card of introduction. The manstood there waiting, and when she turned round,flushed and flurried, holding the card, and glancingat him suspiciously to trace the smile upon his lips,she found nothing there, not even surprise. Heevidently was old enough to be beyond it

Rosalie pointed to the back; he read it, thenmotioning her to sit in the chair facing the hydra-headedumbrella stand, went in once more behindthe polished doors and closed them after him.

44The door opened silently again before long.

“Come this way,” said the low, serious voice.

The doors swung to behind them. They enteredupon a large square hall. It was not brilliantlylighted, and the farther end was dim and scarcelydiscernible. But every thing was rich and massive,and highly polished. It reminded her in some indescribableway of the temple she had just left. Carvedoak chairs, just as those seen in the sacred building,lined the walls, standing round in a perfect square,except where interrupted by some other article offurniture. These chairs seemed to be endless.

As Rosalie passed along she became accustomedto the dimness, and noticed from this farther end aspiral staircase ascending to the upper floor. It wasbuilt in polished oak, and went round and round ina way that reminded her of the Serpent’s coils. Itled to a gallery that overlooked the hall on all sides.

Three double glass doors of the same peculiarlustre as the entrance (which made the fourth) ledout of this hall, one on each side, one being beyondthe staircase.

Her companion passed through that door to theleft, and she followed him. They came upon acorridor, and stopped before the last door on theleft-hand side. Her guide knocked, then openedit. There was no name to give; Rosalie had notongue to speak, no card to show. Then the doorclosed again, and she found herself in the presenceof the man whom she had come to seek.

He was sitting by a table reading. A fire wasburning in the hearth near by. A high shadedlamp stood on the ground beside him. The floorwas thickly carpeted, the walls were lined with books45from floor to ceiling, one other door led from theroom.

The Master looked up as she entered, then gotup, pushing the book away.

“So you have come,” he said. He came forwardand held out his hand.

Rosalie, trembling and uncertain, returned thehand-shake, nodding.

“What! you cannot speak yet?”

She shook her head, but as he was withdrawinghis hand she clutched it eagerly, unconscious ofanything but this one little sinking straw of hope.

This time he looked at her more closely. “Whatis it?” he asked.

She raised her other hand to her throat and mouth,then pointed to him, her eyes full on his face.

“I’m not the Serpent,” he answered, and he shookhis head and tried to disengage his hand.

But Rosalie’s fingers tightened with a fiercenessand determination altogether foreign to her. Hercheeks flushed, her eyes flashed angrily; she gaveone little imperious stamp with her foot.

The Master looked at her and smiled—a smile thattravelled from his eyes to the corners of his mouth.

“I see. You do not intend to go till I haveperformed an—an impossibility?”

Rosalie nodded in all seriousness.

“It is the gift of speech you’re wanting?”

She nodded.

“It’s very dangerous; leads people into all kindsof indiscretions.”

She shook her head vehemently.

“You think you differ from the commonality?”

But Rosalie neither shook her head nor nodded.46She only looked up at him with no other expressionin her eyes except dumb entreaty.

“Come to the light,” said he, “and try to look lessghostly. After all, if you can’t be cured you can’t.You’re brave enough to stand that, aren’t you?”

Again she nodded, still looking at him.

He pushed the shade of the lamp up. “Now openyour mouth,” he said.

Obediently Rosalie did as she was told.

“Why, you’ve got a tongue!” said he, bending hisbrows, and stooping down to her. “Can’t youmove it?”

But Rosalie could not. It was complete paralysisof the muscles evidently.

“Come with me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

He led her through the other door into anotherroom. The walls of this place were lined with chestsand cupboards with glass fronts, containing curiousinstruments. In the centre was a long table. Theroom was also fitted up with chairs such as dentistsuse, and a marble washing basin fitted with waterpipes, hot and cold.

Yet when the light was turned on the generaleffect was cheerful. Rosalie found it so, at anyrate, for renewed hope was springing in her heart.She sat down upon the chair he drew for her, andwatched him whilst he went to the cupboard andbrought out something shaped like a very longdarning needle. It was thick at one end, very fineand pointed at the other. Then from another shelfcontaining flasks of glass polished and cut he took aliquid shining like silver, and poured some into a tinycrucible. With these he came back to her and placedthem on the table. Then he looked at her, smiling.

47“This will hurt you very much,” he said; “but youasked for it, so you will have to go through with it.”

Anyone but Rosalie would have noticed that theexpression of his face was not particularly kind. Butshe noticed nothing. She leant back against thehead-rest; he placed his hand upon her eyes. Afterthat they were too heavy for her to open them. Sheopened her mouth instead.

It was a curious kind of pain, if pain it could becalled. Never in the whole of her life had she everfelt anything so soothing. She could not tell howlong the sensation lasted, but it ceased very suddenly.Then although her eyes were closed she felt (this wasthe curious part of it) a strong light shining into hermouth, right back to the roots of that so far silenttongue. It was a light that had the power to heal andstrengthen, and for a long, long time it played uponevery unused nerve and delicate muscle. At last allwas over; the master laid his hand upon her eyesagain and opened them.

“Now,” said he, “the miracle has been performed.Are you satisfied?”

From long custom Rosalie nodded.

“You must speak,” he answered, laughing, “if butto show your appreciation of the gift.”

“Thank you,” she said, quite perfectly, with just alittle break in the word that took nothing from itssweetness.

“Did you find the pain very bad?”

“I nev-er felt it.”

“Never felt it?” he repeated. “Give me yourhand.”

But her pulse was even, and he frowned.

“Where did you come from when you came to48me?” he asked, bending his eyes down to hers witha keen, penetrating glance.

“I came from the temple.”

“From the prayer?”

“Yes.”

“Then you—” but here he stopped. “I see,” hecontinued, but in reality he didn’t.

“Did you expect I should be hurt?” she asked.

“I can hardly believe you were not.”

“But I should have screamed. I made no sound.”

“That was scarcely possible. For my own part,I always think it best to guard against screams,they are so unhelpful and unnecessary.”

Now Rosalie looked at him, with eyes just askeen and penetrating as his had been.

“Why do you stare at me?” he asked, smiling.

“To see if you are disappointed.”

Here he laughed.

“Be careful. Your tongue is getting rather outof bounds already.”

“I think you would rather have enjoyed mybeing hurt.”

“Well, what can you expect in a countrywhere vivisection is disallowed? One must takewhat little pleasure one can get.”

Here he led the way back into the outer room.When they were both through he turned the keyand put it in his pocket.

“I rarely go in there,” he said. “Few folks arefool enough to come to me. I have no ambition tobecome a doctor, and I shun the popularity thathangs upon the quack.”

They were both standing by the table now, oneon either side. Rosalie’s eyes were fixed dreamily49on a large glass ink-stand in the centre of the table.She was beginning to feel indescribably tired.There was nothing very wonderful in this, theoperation had lasted longer than she was aware.But though tired, she was feeling remarkably light-hearted,longing to get outside and give herselftwo or three decided pinches to become convincedshe was awake, and that this great good fortune ofher prayer had at last come to her.

But over and above the tired feeling and theunreality came gratitude to her deliverer. Thethought of this made her suddenly raise her eyesand look across at him.

Certainly his face was very proud, and the shadowslurking underneath his eyes and at the corners ofhis mouth gave it a dark, forbidding expression.It was not altogether pleasant.

“The feature I like best is his nose,” thoughtRosalie. “The one that frightens me most is hismouth; the one that most interests me is his eyes.”

“You have been very kind to me,” she said. “Isthere any way in which I can pay you back?”

But he shook his head.

“I do not think you could give me anythingtangible, but perhaps you yourself will be able tosuggest something.”

Rosalie flushed to the roots of her hair. “I haven’tanything,” she answered.

“Not even a soul?”

“What is that?”

“That part of you which under certain conditionsbecomes immortal.”

“That part of me belongs to the Serpent.”

“The Serpent passed you on body and soul to me.”

50“The Serpent did nothing of the sort,” sheanswered vehemently, if slowly. “I—I—I—”

“You what?”

“I nothing.”

His eyebrows came together in a frown.

“Yes,” he answered quietly, “there is one wayin which you can pay me back. Speak the truthin answering my questions.”

“I’ll try,” said Rosalie meekly.

“Then put an ending to that ‘I—I—I—.’”

“I came because I thought it was time. I gota little bit tired of the Serpent.”

“Why?”

“Because it never took any notice of me.”

“Are you sure?”

Rosalie’s curious eyes looked up innocently andmet his.

“Does that surprise you very much?”

“I confess that it does.”

“Do you know, I’m very tired. If you don’t mind,I’ll come again to-morrow and talk it over.”

But he shook his head, and smiled again.

“I don’t think I’ll let you go,” he said. “Youranswers are not very satisfactory. Besides, where isthere you can go?”

“Oh, with a tongue one can go anywhere and doanything.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

And here from sheer weariness and exhaustion sheslipped down in the arm-chair beside her.

It had been a very hard day, and the endinghad told upon her strength. She had not fainted,however, she was only sleeping.

51Mr. Barringcourt crossed the room and looked ather very narrowly, even dropping on one knee toexamine her features more nearly.

It was a very pale, thin, and tired face he lookedat, delicate and fragile, with dark lashes, and faintblue shadows underneath the closed eyes. The backsof her hands were rough, and he took each up andexamined it as though he had been a fortune-teller—backand front.

Then he began walking slowly back and forwardsthrough the room. His face, though handsomeafter a kind, was certainly not of the most prepossessing;and yet in repose his expression was oneof weariness and contempt.

“What shall I do with her?” he muttered. “Keepher to prevent blabbing as usual. Keep her andbring her up to talk properly. When she is oldenough, or rather fit enough, I’ll let her out on alease long enough to take her to the devil. Alwaysthe same! everlastingly the same! coming and going,with nothing to give and everything to ask. Dull tothe very core, chattering like magpies, smiling andaping God knows what! Rich and poor, all of themalike. And for some reason best known to myselfI stand it. What an excellent patient fisherman Ishould make!”

Then he sat down again very deliberately in hischair, and drew the book he had been reading towardshim, at the same ringing a bell. The same man whohad admitted Rosalie answered it.

“Take her away, and see she doesn’t get out,” saidhe, without looking up; and the other evidentlyunderstood so well that he never asked a question.

When Rosalie awoke next morning, it was with apardonable sense of bewilderment and estrangement.

Instead of the little bedroom, bare of carpet, anddevoid of all furniture, except the poorest and thesimplest, she found herself in one that was reallypalatial.

The bed had deep hangings of red silk, and shewas not up to date enough to tear them down asbreeding microbes and all things unhealthy. Thenby degrees, her eyes travelling beyond the bed, shegradually became acquainted with the other thingswithin the room, washstand, dressing-table, sofa,chairs; and here Rosalie gave a squeal of delight, andjumped out of bed, for there opposite was a wardrobe,as respectable as carved black oak could make it.But it was not the wardrobe that attracted herattention so much as the mirror set full length in itsmiddle door—a mirror larger than she had everseen before or dreamt about. Rosalie was not vain,but she had always entertained a great longing tosee her feet at the same time as her head, and hadthought it only a luxury and privilege accorded tothe rich. When she had become accustomed to thisnovel vision she walked over towards the windows.Here, so far as beauty was concerned, a disappointmentwaited on her. All three of them looked upon53a high blank wall opposite. It gave a sense ofextreme dulness to the place.

Just then her explorations and discoveries were cutshort by a knock at the door, and on it entered awoman carrying a tray holding a cup of tea. Rosalie,who understood nothing of this sort of thing, staredat it and the bearer.

“I’m quite better now, thank you,” she said,shaking her head. “I was a little tired last night.I’d rather not have my breakfast in bed, if you don’tmind.”

“This is not your breakfast,” said the other, in avoice so well modulated that many seemingly moreexalted might have envied it.

“Oh, what is it?” said Rosalie, standing stillwith her hands behind her looking at it.

“A cup of tea to help you to dress.”

She had the sweetest voice imaginable. Rosaliethought it the saddest she had ever heard.

“I shan’t be ten minutes dressing,” she replieddecidedly.

“Quite an hour, I should say,” replied the other.

“Oh!” gasped Rosalie. Then she clapped herhands together, caught up the flowing robe andskipped across the room to the bed.

“If I’m not dressed in ten minutes, my name’snot Rosalie Paleaf.”

Then with a sudden change to alarm in hermanner, she turned round, growing alternately hotand cold.

“I say, where are my things? I can’t see themanywhere.”

“I took them away last night. There are yourclothes for the day.” And she directed her attention54to a chair on which some very pretty and expensivelingerie was laid.

Rosalie looked at it, then drew herself up.

“I want my own clothes,” she said. “These aretoo good for me; the others might be poor, but theywere my own.”

“I am afraid you cannot have them; you mustdress in these.”

The tears rose in Rosalie’s eyes.

“I want my own clothes,” she said again.“Auntie and I cut and made them together.They were the last pair of stockings that sheever knit.”

There was no answer.

“Won’t you bring them back?” said Rosalie at last,the tears still standing in her eyes.

“I am afraid it is against the rules of the house.”

Then Rosalie got up with a sigh, and prepared toget inside the first garment.

“There is your bath first.”

“I never bath in the morning; I always leave thattill night.”

“I think you had better do that which iscustomary.”

Again Rosalie sighed, and followed hertormentress to an adjoining bath-room.

And so it took her well on into the hour beforeshe was dressed, ready to leave the bedroom.

Mariana, who stayed to help her, insisted onarranging her hair, and after all arranged it muchmore becomingly than Rosalie herself had everdone.

But the black robe with its red silk facings, thatfitted her companion so becomingly, suited her not55at all. The fit was as perfect as it could be, butotherwise she looked quite out of place in it.

Breakfast was served on the same floor as that onwhich her bedroom was—three rooms away.

All this portion of the house evidently looked outon to nothing better than the wall mentioned before;but the beauty of the interior compensated for outsidegloom. Rosalie was charmed with everythingshe saw, though somewhat awe-struck, and she tookher breakfast shyly from the hands of what shedescribed to herself as the handsomest man she hadever seen. She also made a mental note that hemust be brother to the man she saw downstairs.

Rosalie had not gone all this time without gratefulremembrance of that ordinary gift she had come topossess; but somehow there was some vague,indescribable thing in her surroundings that tookaway a full appreciation. She was longing to beoutside, to talk with people more like herself, not allin black with red silk facings and knee breeches, andvoices modulated to a soft perfection.

Rosalie’s voice was sweet, but it was not thesweetness found in theirs. Hers was the outcome ofexpression, theirs of classical harmony. But howwas she to get away? She dare not ask Mariana,for she was getting an uncomfortable idea thatMariana, from no ill motive, always thwarted andopposed her. So, watching her opportunity, sheescaped and passed down the spiral staircase.

In the big hall below all was silent as death.Evidently no one was about.

She ran across to the big doors with a palpitatingheart—outside them was freedom, she scarcely knewfrom what.

56Alas! Another hand had touched the large glasshandle before her own.

“Your card, madam. Your passport out.”

“I have none. I shall not be away five minutes.”

“I am afraid you cannot go.”

“But I must go.”

There was no answer. Exasperated, Rosalie stoodand faced him.

“You let me in, and you can let me out.”

“The orders are that you are not to pass.”

“Whose orders?”

“The master’s.”

“Then take me to him.”

“He is engaged at present.”

“I’ll go myself, then.”

As Rosalie passed along the corridor her suddendecision was sealed by growing annoyance and alonging, almost amounting to fear, to get away.

With scarcely a pause she knocked upon the door,that door through which she entered last night.Without stopping she opened it. Mr. Barringcourtwas there alone, at a table littered with papers,writing. He was indeed busy and engrossed, for onher entrance he did not raise his head, till accostedby her voice, and then he looked up sharply enough.

“You!” said he, bringing his eyebrows togetherin that dark frown which Rosalie had seen last night,and seeing had never forgotten.

“Yes. I want to go out.”

“Impossible!” said he, with an impatient gestureof his hand, and returned to the paper.

“I want to go out,” she repeated. “And youhave no right to stop me.”

“In my own house I have every right. Go away,you are interrupting me.”

“So are you interrupting me.”

He laughed, not altogether kindly, and looked upat her again.

“That is little short of impudent.”

“I don’t care. I want to go out, and if you won’tgive me leave, I shall take it.”

58“Take it then, by all means.”

“That man at the door won’t let me.”

“Knock him down. It will be one way ofsurmounting the difficulty.”

“He is such an elephant. I disliked him thevery first time I saw him,” she replied with energy,and as much simplicity as the truth occasioned.

“Well, go away and fight it out with him; watchthe door, and bounce out when he’s not looking.”

“I won’t do anything so undignified. I shallmake friends with the kitchen people, and creep outthat way.”

“The kitchen door leads into the garden, andthe walls are high, and the gate is locked. I keepthe key myself, to ensure no one getting to thestables.”

“Then give me leave to go out at the front.”

“Now, why should you want to go out at thefront? You have as beautiful a home as youcould possibly wish for. What more can you want?”

“Fresh air and human beings.”

“You have them here.”

She shook her head. The tears rose in her throat,and were very hard to choke down again.

“It’s the dismallest place I ever came to; andI’m no use. The people here always contradict me.”

“You are the first person who has ever complainedof them; and your opinion goes for nothing, yourown conduct leaves so much to be desired.”

“In what way?”

“In my time I have experienced much ingratitude,but never any quite to equal yours.”

“I—ungrateful?”

“Most decidedly!”

59“What are you wanting from me?”

“Quiet submission.”

Rosalie’s eyes opened wide, her lips parted; herexpression was one of unfeigned surprise.

“What’s that?”

“To do what you’re told quietly. Now youknow,there is no excuse for your not complying.”

“But to submit means to stay here.”

“Of course!”

“But I can’t. Oh, I can’t really! Anything butthat.”

“Nothing but that. You come to me with themost unusual request, and I am fool enough to putmyself out of the way for you. Then you expectto go away, or rather slip away, without any morewords about repayment. And when you are broughtback, all this squalling.”

“Nice people are quite content with ‘Thank you.’”

“I’m not nice, and ‘Thank you’ never appeals tome.”

“But if I stay here I can do nothing.”

“Yes, you can mope.”

“In return for a tongue?”

“Why not? It would be the height of self-sacrifice,and the perfection of thanksgiving.”

Her serious eyes met his thoughtfully. “Do youreally wish me to stay here?”

“I not only wish, but am determined on it.”

“Then my self-sacrifice can never be spontaneous.”

“You mean you are changing your mind. Youare wishful to stop?”

“Not wishful, but if you want it, I’ll—I’ll try tosettle down more cheerfully. After all, it’s only just.”

“That is so.”

60“Shall I often see you?”

“Never. I am not fond of inflictions.”

He spoke so drily, and the words were so unkind,that Rosalie’s wistful face grew paler. Yet still sheargued to herself it would be selfish to wish to befree, to have a tongue and everything. And afterall, the stranger was so clever that he must ofnecessity know best.

“Will you let me out just for an hour?” she askedat length, with a voice greatly subdued from thefirst clamorous outburst.

“Not for an hour.”

“But I have an aunt, and she is dead. I shouldn’tlike strangers to take what once belonged to her.”

“Where is your uncle?”

“He is dead too.”

“Your people?”

“I have none.”

“Where then, in the name of all the devils inLucifram, do you intend to go to?”

“I thought when people knew I had miraculouslycome by a tongue they would—”

“Ah! I thought as much. You want to behavewith all the absurdity of a hen that has laid an egg.”

“Indeed!” said Rosalie, flushing.

“You want to get out just to cackle.”

She was silent.

“You admit it?”

“I admit nothing but your want of manners.”

“What a waspish, vinegarish tongue yours is.”

“It’s the fault of the doctor, then. If one cannotproduce a sweet instrument one might as well admitoneself a failure.”

“How was I to tell? Your face was so deceptive.”

61“Maybe so is my tongue. I was only speakingin fun. Let me out for one hour. Lend me twopence,and I will return, having spoken to no one,and in the right frame for being submissive.”

For a short time he was silent. At last he said:

“Promise me faithfully you will return.”

“I promise you most faithfully.”

“Within the hour?”

“Yes.”

“You understand perfectly that my reason forbringing you back is not for any personal gratificationI should derive from it. It is simply so thatyou may not obtain any great or particular pleasurefrom having a prayer perfected.”

“You speak plainly enough for the dullest mind.”

“I’m glad. Now you may go. And remember,come back if you have any sense of gratitude.”

So Rosalie passed out again into the farther hall.

“I have permission to pass,” said she at the door,and then she stood outside.

It seemed to her when she reached the parapetthat she had been out of the world for years. Andoh! to be back in the world again! To see andhear the sights and sounds, so commonplace andordinary, yet to her stilled ear so sweet again.Never had that terrible silent mansion struck heras so terrible till now she stood amongst the noiseof work and life once more.

One hour of freedom. One hour with the light,jogging world, and then to pass once more beneaththe shadow—a silent spirit in a silent world. The’bus rattled on, taking its own slow time towards thatquarter of the city where she had lived. She foundthe upper storey empty, and none had missed her.62Yesterday the doctor had told her his intention ofcoming for her at four o’clock to-day. It was notyet quite twelve.

Each of the little rooms was now quite bare, exceptthe tiny attic called her bedroom. In it were gatheredthe few trivial things she prized as belonging to daysthat were less dark than these. There was a necklaceof coral, a collar of lace, a pair of gloves, kid,backed with astrachan, the last present her uncleever gave her; a tiny brooch of gold, left by heraunt, and always worn by her, and but little else.One other thing she found, a book that in that planetcompares nearly to our Bible. Sadly and lovinglyshe placed them all together, and kissed them manytimes, her eyes blinded with tears; and then a voicewhispered:

“Why go back? Go to this doctor. Tell himeverything, for he is kind. None would blame youfor not returning to that prison mansion, even thoughunder a promise. It was an unfair advantage.”

But Rosalie shook her head.

“I must go back, because I promised. I askedeverything in return for nothing. And God, in Hisown good time, will make the dark path plain.”

The struggle gradually died, and Right conquered.

At last she was ready to go. Glancing round forthe last time, she saw upon the mantelpiece a key,a solitary one upon an iron ring.

“It belonged to uncle’s safe, the one that had solittle in it,” she thought. She took it up. Its dullappearance suggested so much dull tragedy to her.“I’ll take it with me,” she thought, and slipped itin the pocket of her dress.

Then she passed down the broad stone steps out63once more into the street. Her brief holiday wasover. The short hour was almost passed. Sheclenched her hands together, and drove back theblinding tears that struggled in her eyes. Graduallyshe drew nearer to the Avenue—how eagerly she hadrushed there on the night before! The great blackmarble mansion came in view, its dusky grandeurhaving a certain sinister lowering to her understandingeye no different from a prison.

“I wonder when I’ll walk along this street again?”she thought, and ascended the marble steps, hidingall trace of past emotion.

“The master wished to speak to you when youreturned,” the attendant at the door said to her whenhe answered it.

Rosalie crossed the hall, feeling that vague senseof satisfaction that generally accompanies honesty,and which at times appears so poor a recompense.

This time on knocking she waited for the answer.When it came she opened the door and entered.

Mr. Barringcourt was in the act of filing papers,and generally tidying up the littered table.

“You are quite punctual,” said he. “And what ismore, astoundingly honest.”

“You did not expect I should return, then?”

“No! Honestly speaking, I thought I had seenthe last of you.”

She shook her head.

“Gratitude brought me back at the expense ofinclination.”

“You should have yielded to temptation, and runaway.”

“Perhaps my action in returning was not quite socommendable as you think. I was much tempted torun away, and then—”

“What?”

“I could find no place to go to.”

“You have no appreciative friends?”

65“Not one.”

“The doctor?”

Rosalie looked up quickly, and flushed. “Whydo you speak of him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” he answered drily; “Ibelieve I was meaning myself.”

“Oh—yes—of course,” stammered Rosalie. “Ithought you meant Dr. Kaye.”

“Then you had notions of appealing to him?”

Rosalie laughed. “You are not the pleasantest ofcompanions.”

“You might as well make a confidant of me. Iam the only one you will find for some time.”

“Well, yes, then,” she answered, looking across athim with a timid glance. “I thought of runningto the doctor, informing him you intended makinga prisoner of me in a free city, and asking him togive me the benefit of his protection and advice.”

“And you thought better of it?”

“You told me if I was grateful I should return.I was grateful, and though there seems somethingvery topsy-turvy about the recompense you askfor, there is something in it that appeals to mysense of justice.”

“That is why you came back?”

“There is no other reason.”

Mr. Barringcourt all this time had been sittingin his chair by the table. Rosalie was standingat the farther side of it. Now he got up and walkedover to the fireplace, where the fire was burningbrightly.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Rosalie Paleaf.”

“Brought up by an aunt and uncle?”

66“Yes.”

“Always dumb, and therefore very much out ofthe world?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you learn the little bit of knowledgeyou possess?”

“I listened to it. I was not deaf, you know.”

“Could you read?”

“Yes, I can read. That is how I used to spendmost of my time.”

“Travels, novels, or biography?”

“A little bit of both—all three, I mean. ‘TheLife of Krimjo on the Desert Island,’ which was myfavourite, contained a little of all, I think.”

“Ally Krimjo was only make-belief,” said heruthlessly.

“Indeed he wasn’t! He had gone through everythinghe spoke about, the shipwreck and theloneliness, the savages and everything. Make-belief!Oh, Mr. Barringcourt, have you ever reallyread it through?”

“Yes, at the time it was written.”

Here Rosalie laughed again triumphantly.

“That shows you don’t know the book I’m talkingabout at all. The man who wrote it lived hundredsof years ago. Quite three hundred, I should say.”

“At that rate I must be mistaken. Then if youare so fond of travel and biography, I have somevolumes here all on that subject, written, too, aboutthe time you speak of. You will have a great dealof time lie heavy on your hands; perhaps you wouldlike some?”

Rosalie looked dubious, and her eyes travelled tothe imposing-looking book-shelves.

67“I never found anyone quite to come up to AllyKrimjo,” she replied regretfully.

“You refuse my offer?”

“Not if you give me something interesting. Butas a rule I don’t like biographies, because the peoplealways die. Now, Ally Krimjo—”

“You’re quite right,” said Mr. Barringcourt grimly.“Ally Krimjo hasn’t died, so he deserves to live.Have you the Book of Divine Inspiration?”

“Oh, yes! I don’t suppose there’s anyone withoutthat?”

“Here’s one with pictures; look at it.”

He took down from a shelf a heavy and ponderousvolume of the Book of Divine Inspiration, aswritten and compiled in the planet Lucifram, andcarried it without the least apparent effort to thetable.

“Now come and look at the pictures. I’ll showyou a few, and then you can take it away with youand look at the rest.”

He opened it at the first page—the frontispiece.It was a picture of the Golden Serpent, so lifelikethat its appearance was most startling. The book,likewise, must have possessed the property of magnifyingall contained in it, for suddenly the head andcoils and tails seemed to enlarge to the same giganticsize as that within the temple.

“I don’t like it. Don’t show me any more of thatbook,” Rosalie said.

“But why?” he asked, with apparent surprise.

“Oh! I don’t know,” she answered, almostwhispering. “It’s the Serpent. I don’t like it.”

“But you are the young lady who was kissing itshead, and throwing your arms around it.”

68“Yes, I know. That was because I did notunderstand.”

“And now?”

“Oh, now! I think it’s cruel and deceitful.”

“That’s nothing short of blasphemy. The Serpentis a god!”

“Do you believe that?” she asked, suddenlylooking up, and fixing his eyes with a look as keenas it was serious.

Two pairs of eyes, dark and light, each encounteredone another—each trying to read the other’s secret—andboth for once inscrutable, dark and light alike.

“Yes. I’ve got a pretty good mental digestion;it can take most things,” he said, the corners of hismouth curving into a smile. “Look! Miss—Miss—What’syour name, by the way?”

“My name is Rosalie—Rosalie Paleaf.”

“Well now, Miss Paleaf, let us turn to the secondpicture.”

Reluctantly she turned round once more, to beholda forest jungle, as fine and beautiful a scene as onecould wish. Its size and realism made her put outher hand to pull a twig of feathery foliage, whensuddenly she was startled to see beneath it a pair ofeyes, wild and yet intelligent, gleaming out at her.It was an animal shaped and sized much like amonkey. Behind it was another of the same kind,a partner in its joys and sorrows evidently.

Rosalie sprang back.

“Look at that hideous thing!” she cried in horror,pointing to it. Then recollecting herself, she said,with an effort at more self-control and appreciation:“Are—are they extinct now?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. What wouldyou say?”

69“I sincerely hope so, I’m sure. Put it away.There is something uncanny about that book. Thatcreature startled me.”

“It’s an acquired taste. Here we come to another.”

He had turned onward to a third picture, in whichwas shown a woman sitting on the roots of a tree,the expression of her face long and uncompromising,full of discontent. She wore no clothing, but her longand silky hair was sufficient covering. She was ofno particular beauty, and her expression of discontent,mingled with curiosity, subtly introduced, and havinglittle intelligence to enlighten it, gave the girl afeeling of repugnance. In one hand she held a fruitof brilliant scarlet; a mouthful was being eaten, andits taste did not seem altogether to her liking.

“What do you think of this?”

“I like it very little better. The man who paintedit, judging from her face, understood human nature,and had very little mercy for it.”

“There you are mistaken. It is a caricature,” heanswered softly, “painted one day by a man, andsent to his dearest friend—a woman.”

“But she is eating a tomato.”

“Of course! Let us continue.”

The next picture showed this same woman standingbeside a man who sat upon a rock cracking nuts withhis teeth. As Rosalie looked the scenes began tomove and become lifelike, pretty much in the sameway as a cinematograph. At first the man did notperceive his companion, but turning suddenly, in theact of taking a broken shell from his mouth, he sawher holding the scarlet fruit, from which she hadtaken no more than two fair mouthfuls. On seeingthis his jaw dropped, his eyes expanded.

70Thin, far-away voices came from the picture, aidingthe illusion.

“What for did you that?” said he, in a voicedevoid of beauty and expression.

“To find out,” she replied, in the same manner.

“But we die—we die—if we eat fruit of bloodcolour!” he cried, with superstitious horror in hisvoice.

“We no die, we live and grow fat. I eat, I live;but I miss something.”

“What?”

“I know not. Eat, and tell me.” Her look wascunning.

“I dare not.”

“It is the best of all kinds—but for one thing.”

“And what is dat?”

“Eat, and tell me. You be my faithful love.”

Gingerly he took it in his hand, applied itreluctantly to his lips, sucking the juice alone.

“It wants—”

His low forehead wrinkled. He could notformulate his thoughts.

“What?”

“It wants—”

And then all round a million voices echoed:

“It wants but salt!”

“Salt!” he shouted, drowning the harmonic voicesin his new discovery.

Hereupon the woman fell upon her knees, andalmost worshipped him, kissing his hands and feet,weeping tears of pleasure on them.

“Scrape me some up,” he uttered, taking advantageof her low position.

She did it with her finger-nails.

71“Now stand back whilst I eat it.”

“But I—I found it.”

“Stand back, goose, and watch me eat.”

“I found it first,” she whimpered.

“Here’s a seed—that’s all you’re worth,” heanswered. “Now I go to find more,” said he,jumping up valiantly. “You bake bread and getme butter for when I return.”

“I come too!” she cried. “You eat the wholewhile I worky work.”

“Fool—toad—weasel—monkey! bake me thebread, or I your neck am breaking!”

And with that they disappeared from the page.Only the picture in its first stage remained visible.

“That’s not pretty at all,” said Rosalie.

“Few things are in real life,” he answered.

“But that was caricature.”

“Not in the way you think. It was caricature, Igrant, but with a difference.”

“Yes. I don’t think the eating of salt with tomatocould make a man really superior, do you?”

“No; but it was the fact that he discovered salt.”

“But he didn’t. He was as ignorant as she tillthe voices whispered it.”

“Nevertheless, he caught the first sound.”

“Yes, of course,” said Rosalie thoughtfully.

Here Mr. Barringcourt laughed.

“You do not appreciate its true absurdity,” hesaid; “but that, maybe, is scarcely necessary. Now,that picture, or series of pictures, was painted by awoman, and sent to the man who had sent her thefirst.”

“But how about the voices?”

“Oh! she was no ordinary woman, by any means.”

72“Was she quarrelling with the man?”

“No. They were amusing each other in wetweather.”

“They paint most beautiful scenery, but I don’tlike their men and women.”

“You are not intended to. Now, shall wego on?”

“No; I’d rather not, really. It gives me headache,and I’ve had it ever since yesterday afternoon, exceptfor that little bit after you had healed me.”

“You are tired of the Book of Divine Inspiration?”

“I’m tired of the pictures; they are no betterthan caricatures and skits. I don’t think that’s agood book to keep in a house at all.”

“You astound me! Were you not brought up toworship the Serpent?”

“Yes; but the Serpent disappointed me.”

“I see. You only worship a God who is contentto spoil you?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll settledown again before long.”

“I hope so. Has it ever struck you, Miss Paleaf,how completely you are in my power?”

“No,” she answered, looking at him quickly.

“Well, you know, I found you in the temple, inthe Holiest Place—the place forbidden to women.Do you know what the punishment for thattransgression is?”

“No.”

“To have your tongue torn out by the roots.”

“Impossible!”

“Not in the least. In this one interview withme you have said enough against the Serpent to73set all its scales and coils bristling, and its fangsworking.”

“I have said nothing.”

“‘Cruel and deceitful,’ were not those your words?”

“Yes; but to tear my tongue out would not be toprove it otherwise. The Serpent’s wisdom shouldassert itself and prove the opposite. You were alsoin the Holiest Place.”

“Of course; but for a man the offence is not socapital.”

“Tomatoes and salt,” said Rosalie, and shelaughed. He laughed also.

“Your impudence is only beaten by yourignorance.”

“As often as I offend solely with my tongue, youmust take the blame yourself. I think you musthave oiled the wheels too freely.”

“It is a good thing you have no relatives, MissPaleaf; they would have missed you, disappearingso suddenly.”

“Under the circumstances, I suppose it is.”

“Were you happy with them?”

“Oh, yes! As happy as the day, when we werein prosperity. But this last year has been nothingbut shadow and poverty, and I don’t think I everrealised how many things I had to be thankful fortill they were all gone.”

“The gift of speech does not compensate for allthings, then?”

“I don’t know. I have had it so short a time.”

“You are longing for freedom, and can findnothing to compensate for the bitterness of itsloss. Is not that it?”

“I don’t think it is only that. My aunt was only74buried the day before yesterday. I should be verycallous and ungrateful if I could forget her so readily.”

“Yet you cannot deny the events of the pastday have put a great gulf betwixt you and her.”

“Yes; I could think she had died a year agoalong with uncle. Poor thing! It would have beenso much better if she had done so, I think.”

“How long do you think your term ofimprisonment will last?”

Rosalie shook her head.

“I don’t know. The future has always been ablank to me. I never built those castles in the airthat many love to build.”

“How about your prayer to find a tongue?”

“I don’t know. I longed to speak, but neverlooked into a future crowned by successful prayer.”

“Well, your term of imprisonment here laststhree years.”

“It is a long time.”

“On the contrary, reckoned justly, a very shortone.”

“What do you mean by ‘reckoned justly’?”

He took up a bundle of filed papers from the table.

“These are accounts of long standing,” he answeredgravely. “It is strange how quickly a high rate ofinterest accumulates. What you wipe off in threeyears or less by ready payments, some are leavingtill a future date, till it accumulates and doubles,then maybe trebles, and some day swamps them.”

Rosalie’s eyes opened with unfeigned surprise.

“But whom is the money owed to?”

“To me.”

“Have you all those debtors?”

“These are a few—a very few. People find out75the softness of my heart, and then they come to me.Women with stingy husbands and extravagant tastes,men with limited brains and boundless ambition.Each and all, with many other pleas and reasons,call upon me and win me over to their way ofthinking. I am always won. No simple-heartedfool within the country gives in more easily thanI when I can gain security of person.”

“But don’t you tell them that you expect return?”

“No; I like them to think there’s one generousperson in the world.”

“But that is scarcely fair. You ought to tellthem what you want.”

“The argument would be beyond them. Besides,it would come then too much like making bargains.I am no shopman. Those who seek me find me.Others stay away.”

“But this is nothing short of madness. How canyou make people pay without a signature oranything?”

“I never jest but when it suits my purpose. Andfor madness, I grant upon the surface it may appearas such. But each bill works backward—item byitem, year by year. Mathematicians and philosopherslooking through them would find a subjectmore than fascinating.”

“But if when you show your bill the people refuseto pay, and say they never got the goods?”

“Why, then, one little snip and the fabric ravelsout again, loop by loop, as it was knitted up. Backit goes to the fundamental working, as rigid asmachinery, as true as time, and ends in nothingness.”

Rosalie was silent for a time, and then she said:“Is that how it is you are such a rich man?”

76But he shook his head.

“I am poorer than many people think,” he answered.“And richer too—wealth is comparative. But now,”he continued, with more energy, “I have come to theconclusion that your term of prison life shall not bequite so dull as you expected. You may come to meat any time, provided I have leisure. Moreover, youmay borrow any book; amongst all these there willbe surely some to suit you, even though it be but auniquely pictured book of Ally Krimjo.”

“But what are you expecting in return? You sayyou like people to esteem you generous, and are notin reality so at all. This generosity to me may endin nothing but a high percentage. It may bring medown to nothingness.”

“You have the advantage of being young, you see.I might end your debtor if I tied you up in anunsympathetic prison, and let you out at last, to findI was too late, and your spirit killed by solitude.”

He was looking at her with a puzzled andthoughtful expression, as if trying to weigh or settlesomething in his mind to his own satisfaction.

“I think you were easier to understand dumb thanyou are speaking,” he said at last.

“Well, yes, because I would be less complex,” saidRosalie wisely. “I was minus something before,now I’m not.”

“Maybe. When will you come to visit me again?”

“To-morrow morning, if I may. From twelve toone?”

“Yes. We’ll arrange for that hour twice a week.It will be neither too long nor too often to bore eitherof us. The rest of the time you’ll spend as best youcan within the house and gardens.”

Rosalie went away again, upstairs to that corridoron which the rooms in which she lived were situated.Another meal was there in readiness, for the hourwas now past one. She ate with little heart, thesilent attendant by her side unwittingly depressingher. When the meal was over she went to a littlesitting-room which Mariana had shown her, takingher small parcel of belongings with her, and shut thedoor.

Here a fire was burning, the only one in thatparticular wing, for they seemed to be chary of fireshere. The room had little of brightness about itotherwise. Its walls were panelled oak withoutdesign or ornament. An oaken table on three legs,a few high-backed chairs, a rug before the fireplace,polished boards the floor; that was all. A narrowwindow looked out upon the blank wall opposite,giving the room a gloomy, darkened look. Yet therewas something about this simply furnished room thatRosalie liked. It was less luxurious than any otherin that house which she had visited.

She drew one of the high-backed chairs toward thefire, and sat down, her feet upon the fender. Shehad taken her small Book of Divine Inspiration fromthe parcel, and sat holding it idly in her hands,staring at the flames. After all, it was comforting to78be able to hold something, something familiar andnot strange, something that had been handled andread by loving hands and eyes, though now theywere passed away for ever.

For Rosalie, despite her behaviour downstairs, wasonly playing a part. Laughing or answering, therehad been ever in her heart the Serpent’s tooth. Itgnawed and stung with almost unendurable pain.O God! to be but rid of it for five sweet minutes.

So far as Rosalie was concerned, there were nolate dinners in this house of mystery. She hadordinary tea at five o’clock, and then the lights forthe evening were brought in, and the red curtainsdrawn. About seven Mariana knocked at the door,and entered.

“This is my evening for playing,” said she quietly;“would you care to come and listen to me?”

“Thank you; I should like to come very much.What do you play?”

“Play? Oh! I always play on a violin; it’s myfavourite amusement. It’s the way I always spendmy night out.”

“Night out,” thought Rosalie; “what an expressioncoming from her lips!”

Aloud she said: “I’m very fond of music. Haveyou learnt long?”

“I don’t remember learning, but I suppose I musthave done.”

She led the way along the corridor, down theslippery stairs, and turned in at the glass doorleading from the central hall towards Mr. Barringcourt’sstudy; but she did not go there. Instead,she paused at a door next to it on the same side.She passed in, and held the door for Rosalie to79follow. The room within was dark, but it must haveoverlooked the Avenue, for lights from the outsideshone weirdly in through the long windows, lightingup short lines of furniture, half a grand piano, astrip of table, an ottoman, and a piece of wall.

Mariana turned on one light. It was soft andshaded, but had not strength enough to illuminatethe whole room. The farther corners were entirelyin the shade.

“Will you not turn on more lights?” asked Rosalie.

“No; I like the twilight best. I can think andfeel better when the light is low.”

Then she uncased the violin which she had broughtdown with her, and tried the strings, testing themby the piano, which was now a little better broughtto view.

Rosalie went over to a window—it was the naturalinstinct of a prisoner—and looked out of it withhungry eyes.

Passing, passing, never ceasing, went the traffic,and through the closed windows came the muffledsound of horses’ feet, and wheels, and voices.Feverishly she scanned each face as closely as shecould in the distance; but she read nothing onthem but what one reads on a hundred faces everyday. Her heart beat with an aching longing totouch the pavement again with free feet. Threeyears! It was a lifetime. One day in a houselike this contained an agony of years.

“I am impatient,” she said, and closed her lipspatiently and tight.

She had forgotten Mariana’s music—in the testingof the chords—till suddenly, after a short pause, shebegan to play.

80Rosalie’s attention was first divided between themusic and the street. What was played seemed tofit in with her mood—a simple air of sadness. Butthis harmonic accompaniment had its dangers, forby degrees Rosalie felt her spirits, instead of keepingpace with it, begin to follow. Then the streetclaimed her attention less, the music absorbing it.And at last she turned round reluctantly and lookedtoward the player. Mariana, never an ordinary-lookingwoman, was by the one pale light quiteextraordinary. The long graceful robe she woremade her look more than commonly tall. Herpretty arms, white and delicate yet, full of a certainindefinable strength, and the ivory whiteness of herface, had a curious charm and fascination in thedim lights. But beside her playing, the musicianherself was insignificant. From sadness her noteschanged to melancholy, from melancholy on tomisery, from misery to despair. Despondency,tragedy, hopeless complaint, and restless, wearywandering on those spiritual wastes where no lightcomes, or even narrow track to show that everpilgrim passed before—this was her music.

Her face as she played betrayed no great emotion.The brightness in her eyes spoke more of mentalactivity and retrospection than of sentiment. Graduallythe listener’s eyes fell on the furniture around.Much of it, in conjunction with the rest of the house,was of polished oak, carved finely and curiously.Opposite there was a cabinet museum about theheight of a man, and above it the carved head ofsome idolater’s god, growing in clearness as shebecame accustomed to the light

But surely the music had affected it. Its ugly81eyes, protruding and rid of all intelligence, alteredslowly to expression almost human. For everyquivering note struck from the violin found a resting-placewithin these staring orbs, filling them both withmisery. Their dumb speech was terrible, but whenRosalie moved away, more ghastly still by reasonof their persistence. She looked away. There onthe floor beside her was a tiger-skin, a rug of worthand beauty, with a head and glassy eyes. Its eyesmet hers. Their dumb misery told a tale beyond thepower of speech. Shivering, she turned and movedaway.

When would Mariana stop and take her from thiswretched room? She had moved within range ofthe statues, those dim, misty forms of whitenesswhich rose like ghosts with out and upstretched armsto beckon her. Faces of cold, white, and deathlybeauty, and eyes! Oh, terrible! all gazing into herswith that sad gaze and straining misery, reaching tothe height and depth of agony.

It was enough. Had they but wailed, or cried, oruttered sound, the spell had broken. But here wassilence—ghastly, terrible, because so secret and sounexpected.

At last the tension reached a limit. On all sidesRosalie encountered ghastly faces of long-sufferingpain to which the music seemed to form a fittingbackground. Turning hurriedly to escape one facebelonging to a child, set in a picture hung upon thewall, her glance fell by chance upon the mirror andrevealed herself, strained horror in her eyes, withblanched cheeks and open lips. She scarcely recognisedwho stood there. It was enough. She crossedthe room half running, and clutched Mariana’s arm.

82“How much longer?”

“The time is up. Alas! how quickly it has passed.Never again till next week, and then but two shorthours. And yet you ask me, ‘How much longer?’”

“Can you play like that, and never feel it?”

Mariana shook her head.

“It’s the only time I ever feel, the only time I everlive.”

“But it is pain and sorrow.”

“Better than emptiness. Now I have lost the onlything I love. All week it lies quite mute, a thing ofidleness, bursting with life. And when I take it upit utters so long a wail, so sad a sigh, that my heartreturns to it, and we weep together till pain becomesan ecstasy and sadness joy.”

“Oh, Mariana! what a life is yours!”

“No different from the rest. A life of greyto-morrows that come and go in endless twilight.”

“Will you feel like this to-morrow?”

“No. To-morrow brings a calm existence.To-night I fill my heart with tears.”

“What was it brought you here?”

“Oh! I loved not wisely, but too well, this littlefiddle.”

“And has it brought you to this pass?”

“Yes, if pass you call it.”

“Then, Mariana, give it up!”

For her the dimness of the room had vanished,its fantasies and ghostly shadows thrown off withone great effort. She grasped the other’s arms inboth her hands, and stared at her, taller by hersudden force and fierceness. The other looked ather, and then recoiled.

“Give it up! The only joy of life—the only life83beyond a dull existence! Why, I should die—thevery thought would kill me.”

“No! It would make you live!”

But Mariana only looked at her, and shook her head.

“Rosalie, can I play? Can you make anythingout of it?”

“I never heard such music; but it is wrong—it’sthe wrong sort.”

Then Mariana came close up to her, just as beforeshe had drawn back, and, with a sudden weakness,drooped her head upon the other’s shoulder, claspingher hands about her waist.

“Don’t say that!” she cried, her voice little abovea whisper. “I cannot bear it. I can do nothingmore. There is no time. Once or twice I asked theMaster would he listen, and he did. But he saidthere was no tune in what I played, no harmonyof any sort—that all was a delusion, a fancy of mybrain.”

“But that was not the truth.” And Rosalie heldher very tight, that woman who in the morning hadseemed so strong to her. “And he only said itbecause he knew you would be fool enough to takeit all to heart.”

“Hush! hush! It’s treason to talk like that.”

“Nothing’s treason but failure. You follow myadvice, and give up the fiddle. Then after a whileyou’ll get it back again in such a way that even Mr.Barringcourt will not be able to say there’s no tunein it.”

Mariana looked at her, with surprise and misunderstandingon every feature.

“I can’t give it up. I’m bound to play for twohours every Wednesday night, harmony or discord.”

84“Why bound?”

“It was the stipulation I made when first I camehere. It’s the kind of thing one can’t break through.”

“You don’t want to?”

“No, I don’t; but if I did I could not.”

“You would rather live for two hours a week thanseven times twenty-four?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“No, and never will.”

It was Mr. Barringcourt’s voice, and he spoke fromthe door, through which he had entered.

When Mr. Barringcourt was in it, the great blackhouse held its mysteries and shadows; without himthey seemed aggravated fourfold. Not long afterthe Wednesday evening music, Rosalie stood in thecentre of the hall suddenly smitten with the mostchilly fear she had ever experienced in her life. Nonoise, no sound, not even the wind without, penetratedthose walls of iron marble. Shadows andsilence in endless vista met her eye. Shadowsand silence like a sigh congealed, changed fromnothingness into reality.

Dreading the loneliness, and her own want of nerveto go upstairs, she went to the door and accosted thekeeper there.

“Does this house frighten you?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he answered, most politely.

“That is strange, because I feel most frightenedhere. It is not haunted, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“There are no—no ghosts?”

He smiled. “That depends upon your imagination,I should say.”

“I want to go upstairs, and I dare not. You don’tthink me very foolish, do you?”

“Where is Mariana? Does she not look afteryou?”

86“Yes. But she went away, nearly an hour ago.”

“Shall I call her?”

“Oh, please do!”

He touched a bell, and a minute later Marianaappeared coming down the staircase. She looked ascalm as ever. The short outburst of the eveninghad died away.

“I’m sorry to trouble you. But I really could notcome upstairs alone. The house was so quiet that itfrightened me.”

“You will get accustomed to the silence bydegrees,” she answered, and led the way towards thestaircase.

When they reached the little sitting-room wherethe fire burnt, Rosalie was pleased to find a whitecloth laid there, with supper on it. It was a veryplain repast, but cheerful, possibly because of thebright lamp and firelight.

“When do you have your supper?” she asked ofMariana.

“I have had mine.”

“What is the time?”

“Almost ten o’clock.”

“How late! That is the time I generally go tobed. What time do you go?”

“As soon as you are settled for the night I shallretire.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“In the next room to yours. If you want anythingin the night, you may ring or come to me.”

“But then I should have to come out on to thecorridor. I hate corridors.”

“No. My bedroom opens into yours. Your doorthat opens into the passage is locked at night.”

87“By whom?”

“By me.”

“Why do you lock it?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. You are safer with itlocked, I expect.”

“How long have you lived here, Mariana?”

“Three years this autumn.”

“And how long has Mr. Barringcourt been here?”

“The same length of time. I came with him.”

“And you are happy here?”

“I could not be happier—under the circumstances.”

“Were you ever happier?”

“I think I was once. But it is a very long timeago. I don’t remember how long, so that it cannotreally matter.”

“Where did you live before you lived here?”

She shook her head.

“I can’t quite remember. I think it was a verycold and dark place, and one day Mr. Barringcourtcame and asked me would I like to go away.”

“And you accepted?”

“Yes. I wanted to get warm again.”

“And are you warm?”

“Yes. Every Wednesday night. If it were notfor that I should grow cold again.”

A silence. Then:

“Who lived here before Mr. Barringcourt?”

“A man who died. His name was GeoffreyTodbrook.”

“What?”

“Geoffrey Todbrook.”

“Why, he’s the man who started homes forincurables. There was one for the dumb and deafand blind. I should have gone there.”

88“I have heard he was very charitable. He leftthis house to Mr. Barringcourt.”

“Were they related?”

“No; I rather think myself the Master had let itto him on a lease. Then when the lease expired hedied, and left a will to smooth all difficulties.”

“Was Mr. Barringcourt living in the city beforeMr. Todbrook’s death?”

“Oh, no! I don’t think he had ever been herebefore. He took me to the opera one Wednesdaynight, and he said it was only the second time hehad been there.”

“The opera? Did you like it?”

“Yes, I liked it; but it made my head ache. Iwas trying to remember something all the time.”

“Do you often go out with him?”

“Oh, no; that would be to get oneself talkedabout. Besides, so long as we remain here, I am buta servant.”

“Why does Mr. Barringcourt keep me here?”

“I expect you have some secret he wishes todiscover, otherwise he would not trouble himselfabout you. When he took me to the opera it wasto discover something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how can you tell?”

“Because, up to the time we went, and throughthe performance, he was very affable to me. Afterwardshe took no more notice of me, and never hasdone.”

“Don’t you hate him?”

“Why should I? I had no secret. His conductwas permissible; and I had rather be left alone.”

89“And what secret can I have that he should beagreeable to me?”

“I cannot tell. Perhaps, like me, you have none.But if you have, rest assured you will not leave thishouse till it has been discovered.”

“Have you ever had anyone staying here beforein the same way that I am?”

“Not in my time. People with secrets worthknowing are few and far between.”

“Then what can make the Master think such aninsignificant person as I could hold a secret?”

“I cannot tell. I only said it might be so; thereis no other reason why he should tolerate yourcompany?”

Rosalie laughed, despite a very uneasy feeling inher mind.

“Do you ever have company here?”

“Yes. Last Christmas there was a ball, and wehad two or three dinner parties and entertainments.Lady Flamington generally acts as hostess. She andSir James are very friendly with Mr. Barringcourt.”

“What is she like?”

“Very beautiful, I think, with very pleasingmanners. She must be so to please the Master; heis so hard to please.”

“Perhaps she has a secret?”

“Oh, no; I hardly think so. He makes a convenienceof her.”

“Good gracious!” and Rosalie laughed. “Youdon’t give him an enviable character.”

“I speak as truthfully as my perceptions allowme; but at times I may be wrong.”

“And does she not resent being made a convenienceof?”

90“No; it is only self-respect that keeps her fromfalling in love with him.”

“Is he then so agreeable to her?”

“He gives her everything that is not worth thehaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“He gives her everything but love.”

“But that, with a husband, no one would want.”

Mariana’s eyebrows rose. “There are doublemarriages on Lucifram, I’m given to understand.”

“Yes; but no one thinks much of a woman whomarries twice, unless she is a widow.”

“Indeed,” Mariana answered, and was silent.

“But is Mr. Barringcourt fond of no one?” Rosaliepursued.

“I never heard of anyone. He is cold and proud,and often takes no trouble to hide it.”

“But then there are so many good and beautifulwomen in the world.”

“They find partners, perhaps, that need them more.”

After another silence Rosalie continued: “AndMr. Todbrook—what did he die of?”

“I think he went down the back staircase.”

“In his own house?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“He died.”

“In which room?”

“The one the Master sleeps in now. There is aportrait of him in the picture-gallery. To-morrowyou shall see it.”

“What did he die of?”

“He had quick ears. He heard the spirit voicescalling, and he went to them.”

91“Painlessly?”

“Like one sailing on a sea of glass. They say hisend was merciful; and I know it was. He sufferednothing—he suffers nothing now.”

“Is he in heaven?”

“I doubt there was too little pain for that; butyet I cannot tell. He may have suffered previously.Men’s lives are strange. And the roughest rocksare coated by smooth waters. They keep theirsecrets all too well.”

“I’m tired, Mariana. Shall we go to bed?”

“Yes. When you wish it.”

So they rose and went together to the bedroom,which had a chilly air in it after the cosy room.When at last Rosalie was in bed, Mariana smoothedthe coverlet and tucked the bed-clothes in.

“Leave me a light, won’t you?”

“Yes; I’ll put it on this table. But there isnothing to fear. An easy conscience may sleepwell here, secure from harm.” She moved away, butafter a few steps returned. She stooped over thebed and kissed Rosalie’s brow. “Good-night, littleone. Sleep peacefully till daybreak.” And thenshe went away.

Big tears rose in Rosalie’s eyes, for the wordshad awakened in her a terrible longing for loveand companionship, stronger and more powerfulthan ever Mariana, in her terribly set existence,could ever know how to give. For Rosalie felt thatshe was even now the stronger of the two, and weptfor Mariana’s solitude as well as her own.

The next morning the sensation of waking in suchfine surroundings had lost all its charm. Rosalieawoke with a dull leaden pain at her heart, thatgained rather than lost power as she recalled oneby one the articles of furniture in this new home.The long mirror had lost its fascination; so had thesilken bed-hangings. She did not jump out of bed,but rather lay there idly, with no wish to rise;oppressed with such a heaviness that to lie stillseemed the only ease from all those aches andpains that twine around a heavy heart. As thegrey light of early morning brightened andbroadened, she curled in among the bed-clothes,and shut her eyes.

“If only they would let me lie here, and notdisturb me! I would never disturb them, I’m sure.I feel so weary that the least exertion is the biggesteffort.”

Then she lay very still for a long time, till at lastMariana knocked at the door and opened it, bringingthe customary cup of tea.

“I feel so tired, Mariana,” Rosalie said, “andthere’s nothing to do. Don’t you think I mightspend the day in bed?”

“It is against the rules.”

“Who makes all the rules here?”

93“The Master.”

“But he has gone away till to-morrow.”

“That does not excuse us.”

“But he would never know unless you told. Iam tired, really, Mariana. I could just lie still, andnever move an inch all day.”

“You must get up.”

“When I get up my heart aches.”

“That does not enter into the consideration of therule. You must get up, or you will be shaken outwhen the bed is made.”

So very reluctantly Rosalie rose, with a day ofnothingness and imprisonment before her. She wasdressed in about the same time as yesterday, hadbreakfast served in the same room in the same way,and then walked out on to the corridor aimlessly anddisconsolately.

Mariana had disappeared. Although Rosalie triedevery door along the corridor she could not find her.Many of these were locked, and others she discoveredto be bedrooms, furnished much as her own, with theexception of the little sitting-room and the room inwhich she had her meals.

At last, weary of this, she passed out to the highgallery overreaching the square central hall. Shewalked round it, and tried various doors leading offfrom it, but all were locked. Below, the dim hall layin silence. Nothing of light or life was there, thoughit was not yet mid-day. She looked down over thehigh oaken balustrade, and sighed, and the echobrought her sigh back to her. She whispered“Rosalie”; the word ran round the arching dome,and then returned—a mocking, hollow voice withinthe silence. So the morning crept away, with no94brightness to speed its dragging hours, no companionship,no occupation. Not a sound fell on herear. So still was everything, the house might havebeen a City of the Dead.

At dinner-time she ate mechanically the food theyplaced before her. To refuse was simply to raise upinsistence. Then she withdrew to the little sitting-room,to idle away what time would go, to find afterendless waiting that scarcely an hour had passed.Then she got up and went back to the bedroom tobring her hat, and with the same difficulty as the daybefore, reached with safety the foot of the spiralstaircase.

The doorkeeper was sitting not far away from it,reading a paper. She went towards him, and as sheapproached him he looked up, and then rose from hisseat.

“Would you mind telling me which way I shouldgo to find the garden?” she asked.

“Certainly. If you will come this way I will takeyou.”

Rosalie smiled sadly.

“Suppose somebody got out or in whilst you areaway?”

“No one would wish to go out, and the door onlyopens from within,” he answered.

He walked across the hall, and she followed himto the glass door behind the staircase. This doorlikewise entered upon a corridor with doors leadingfrom either side of it. The house seemed all doors,but at the farther end a spacious fernery opened out,the curtains (of deep red) which shut it off being nowlooped and drawn back, so that much beyond wasvisible. Through the magnificent fern-house he led95her till they came to a door of glass leading downinto the garden beyond.

The doorkeeper opened it, and let her pass through,himself following.

Outside, broad flights of steps descended byterraces to a lawn of smoothest grass. The terraceswere paved in large squares of black and whitemarble, and from the central one a huge fountain wassending up showers of sparkling water to meet thebrilliant sun. Beds of flowers, all of colours resemblingscarlet geraniums, were laid out bordering theside walks. One magnificent bed of what looked likecrimson gladioli ran up a steep bank bordering theleft-hand wall. The high walls themselves werecovered with creepers, all of brilliant red, just asautumn leaves are often found, and the only reliefafforded was that of the dark foliage of the trees thatclustered willow fashion in the rear portion of thegarden. This was a kind of wooded avenue alongwhich a carriage drive led from the big gates in theouter wall round to those stables where the Master’sfavourite horses were.

“This is the garden,” said her companion, when hehad brought her so far; “you will return any timebefore five. After that the doors are locked.”

When Rosalie was left alone she walked across thelawn slowly, taking in all the beauty and striking natureof the scene. The gardens were large. The avenueand shrubbery beyond were shaded, and providedwith many rustic and artistic seats. Rosalie walkedalong the carriage drive as far as she could, and thena sudden and unaccountable gloom seemed to fallupon her and all things. Just then a sudden bend inthe road brought her full in view of the stables. It96seemed to her for one instant as if against the gloomsurrounding her they shone out in flashing whiteness.They were flat-roofed, though high, and the strongpillars supporting and ornamenting the building werean exact fac-simile of those used in the decoration ofthe temple.

And standing there looking at it, Rosalie smiled.

“I wonder whose idea that was?” she thought.“A devout architect and designer would never havethought of such a thing. But perhaps I’m mistaken;this may be a private place of worship. I’ll go onand see.”

So she advanced as far as the building; butwhether it were stable or chapel she could not tell,for it possessed no doorway. She walked around itas far as she could on either side, till prevented by awall of great height, but found nothing to serve asa clue as to the nature of its use. No sound camefrom within—none of the odour that generallycharacterises such places, either of sanctity or horses—andfor the third time Rosalie walked round withgrowing curiosity. Marble, marble, all was marble,cold and hard and lifeless.

“I really think granite would be a welcomechange,” she said, and sighed and walked away.

But it was really pleasant and enjoyable to bein the open air. To be able to look up at a skythat belonged in common to prisoners and free men,there was some little consolation in that.

As she emerged once more from the woodedavenue, her eye fell full on the house. She wassurprised and startled at its beauty, viewed thus fromthe back. Whereas looking at it from the street itshowed as nothing but a large square mansion,97almost ugly in its plainness, it was from here oneof the most graceful and artistic buildings she hadever seen. It was turreted and towered, withpolished oriel windows, shining with a lustre alltheir own against the dusky background of darkmarble. The windows on the basement all openedon the ground.

“I believe this is the front, and the front is theback,” thought she. “A kind of topsy-turvy, likethe rest of things. What a magnificent door!”

This last expression escaped her involuntarilyand aloud.

The door from which she had come was a smallside one leading from the conservatory of palmsand ferns, but in the centre of this huge constructionof glass was a double door of thick carved glass,or some substance very like it, of fine workmanshipand execution.

Rosalie went up the many steps towards it, passingthe silver fountain that fell with almost a merrysound into the marble basin. Both leaves of thedoor were shut, and the carving represented was thatof a temple, the inner portion, with arched aisles andfluted pillars, and in the centre an altar, with aboveit the image of a toad. Below it, on the stepsoutside the customary railing, bowed figures kneltin bare feet, their shoes and stockings at someconsiderable distance. The representation wascomprehensive. Each figure and detail was drawnwith great exactness and clearness. The curiouspolish it possessed was its most striking feature,especially that brilliancy radiating from the toad.Rosalie bent her eyes closer to it, shuddered tofind that there was something horribly repulsive in98such an animal, and then found herself attracted bythe light shining from its head. Its eyes weremeaningless and staring, even in the carved picture,but from its head, and this she only discovered aftersteady looking, the light shone very curiously.Instead of the white light of the rest, this wasalmost red. Just a faint tinge of red! All the rest,carved as it were from blocks of ice, was utterlylifeless. Yet it was this tinge of colour, so subtlyintroduced, which made the whole great differencebetween an uninteresting and an interesting thing.At last she left it and looked down once more intothe garden. She saw that several narrow paths ledinto the shrubberies at the sides. But what struckher attention most was that glorious rising bankof scarlet lilies and harebells and gladioli, thatextended right down one side to the wooded avenuebeyond, and reached almost to the height of thewall.

She perceived a narrow winding path led up thisbank to its summit, and there a garden seat wasplaced. This was the highest point of vantage inthe garden.

“I believe if I could only get up there I shouldbe able to see away over the opposite wall, for it’slower!” she cried excitedly. “Oh, how glorious tobe able to see the city and everything! I’ll go.”

But alas! from the times of Cinderella downwards,clocks have often had a knack of striking atan awkward time. And now there came the soundof chimes, the silver warning, and then the fiveplain strokes that told the closing hour of fetteredliberty.

Rosalie re-entered the house. In the central99hall she met Mariana coming from the entrancedoor in hat and jacket, and carrying a muff.

“Where have you been?” she cried, runningacross to her.

“Out for a walk.”

“Oh, Mariana! What a shame never to tell me,and never to take me!” And she took hold of herhands hungrily, and kissed her on either cheek.

“Why do you kiss me?” the other asked, smiling.

“To try to get some real fresh air into my lips.”

“It is not very fresh. There is quite a fog comingon.”

“Ah! But it’s free air. I feel all the better justfor kissing you. But why do you never takeme?”

“It is against the rules.”

“But why can you go, and not I?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. See, I have brought yousome sweets,” and Mariana held out a very prettybox containing a delicious assortment of chocolates.

Rosalie took it, somehow more touched than sheliked to show by this simple little act of graciousness.

“Come and sit with me after tea, and let us eatthem together.”

“I am afraid I cannot. I am always busy inthe evening.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making a wedding-dress.”

“Are you going to marry, then?”

“Oh, no; I’m not making it for myself. I don’tknow that it is a wedding-dress either. However,I am making it very beautifully, and so I amambitious for it.”

“Who is going to wear it?”

100Here Mariana’s brow puckered, and a puzzled,tired look came on to her face.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I expect if Ifinish it, and no one applies for it or wants it, itwill shrivel up again. For there is no wardrobebut what is overrun with moths; and the mothshere eat away all colours except red and black.”

“Then how can you preserve it till it’s done?”

“By steeping the silk I sew it with in tears. Butwhen the last stitch is in the effect has gone. Themoths cannot perceive the bitterness afterwards.They eat it all away.”

Rosalie stared at her, as well she might.

“Won’t you let me see it?” she asked at length;but Mariana shook her head.

“It would be no pleasure to you.”

“Indeed it would. Let me see it, Mariana, justfor one minute. There can be possibly no harm inthat.”

“The room I sew in is very damp for such as you.”

“But I’m stronger than you. I’m accustomed tohard work.”

The other looked at her and smiled, with moresadness than mirth in her expression.

“What strange ideas you get about things, Rosalie.The work I do would kill you in a month.”

“But you will let me come with you, will younot?”

“Yes, if you wish it very much. After tea at sixo’clock I will come for you.”

At six o’clock Mariana knocked at the little sitting-roomdoor, and Rosalie opened it, quite ready toaccompany her, armed with the box of sweets.

“You must not bring those,” said the elderwoman.

“But I want you to have some.”

“I’m not like you. I’m not fond of sweets, andhave no intention of making my fingers sticky.”

Then Rosalie put them down, and followed her insilence and obedience.

They went downstairs together, and took the dooropening into the central hall to the right, the onethrough which Rosalie had not yet passed.

But at the threshold Rosalie stood still. It seemedto her as if a great spider’s web was barring theirfurther progress. A breath of darkness and dampnesswas wafted out to meet them, and inclinationbade her turn back there and then. Marianaevidently noticed nothing of this hesitation; shepassed through the door, and held it open for Rosalieto follow. The gigantic cobweb was nothing butdelusion evidently, and melted into nothingness.

“Don’t shut the door,” Rosalie whispered; but ithad closed silently even as she spoke.

And here was darkness and cold dampness. Sheheard her heart beat wildly in the stillness, and102groped for Mariana’s arm. It seemed cold andlifeless, having no animation.

“Can’t we get a light?” she whispered, with drylips, and her voice sounded hollow in her ownhearing.

“The light is farther down the passage.”

That, at least, was reassurance. It was Mariana’svoice, no different from what it ever was, just assubdued and gentle.

By degrees her eyes became accustomed to theintense gloom, and when Mariana turned on the oneflickering light, she recognised a length of passagesimilar to that in the other two wings. But here thedoors were all quite low, and made of plain blackwood. There was no attempt at adornment. Thefloor was plain wood, the walls, the ceilings, andeverything was dreary, damp, and cold.

The doors, too, were numbered all in red, and itwas before No. 13 that Mariana stopped. It openedto her touch, and together they entered.

“This is the room I work in,” said Mariana, andagain turned on one feeble light. It seemed theonly one in the chamber.

The black rafters of oak hung low above theirheads, and their heaviness perhaps helped to increasethe gloomy aspect of the place. A long table of dealran down the centre, with a chair at either end. Thistable was covered with a white cloth reaching theground on either side.

Two chests of oak, shabby and worn, were theonly articles of furniture the room possessed. Thewalls were whitewashed. Here and there the plasterhad fallen from them, with a dispiriting effect.There was neither fireplace nor window in the room.

103“Can you work in here?” Rosalie asked, lookinground with an involuntary shiver.

“Yes. One becomes accustomed to surroundings.I never notice them; I’m too absorbed.”

She went to the table and drew away the cloth,folding it, and placing it upon one of the vacantchairs. Below, a shimmer of satin, and gold, andsilver, all strikingly in contrast to the bareness andpoorness of the room, met the eye.

“How lovely!” said Rosalie, drawing her breath.“Do you know, I thought that big white cloth wasthe material, and it looked to my eyes more like ashroud.”

“This is only the material,” said Mariana. “Ifinished it the day you came, after being engagedon it three years. It is all hand-spun and woven,but now I’ve put the loom and spinning-wheelaway in those big chests. One does not want toomany things about.”

“But who taught you?”

“Oh! it is knowledge one acquires. It needs acertain kind of brain and a given pattern, that is all.”

Then she went over to one of the chests andopened it, and took from it a parcel which she untied.It contained a quantity of most lovely lace, thelike of which Rosalie had never seen before.

“Did you make this?” she asked.

“No; it belongs to the Master. I found it inthe lumber rooms among the attics, and asked himfor it, and so he gave it to me.”

“Gave it to you? It looks almost priceless.”

“I know—reckoned from some standpoints. ButI liked the design. It is lovers’ knots, and spraysof lily of the valley. Have you noticed it?”

104“Yes.”

“It was that that put it in my head about thewedding-dress. When I have finished, it will be abeautiful creation.”

“But do not the moths attack the lace?”

“Oh, no; you see it belongs to the Master,otherwise it would have been eaten long ago.”

“But why do you not wear it yourself, if he gaveit to you?”

Again the tired, puzzled look came over Mariana’sface.

“I have no use for it. Besides—I don’t know.I think it has something to do with sacrifice orfreedom. I can’t tell which.”

“Will you give it to Lady Flamington, do youthink?”

“I shall not give it to anyone, except the onewho asks.”

“But you will be besieged.”

“How can that be when no one knows about it?”And she spread the lace upon the ivory satin, anddrew it into graceful folds, just as an understandingartist would. As she did so, even by the meagrelight Rosalie perceived its exquisite beauty.

“Who is to be fitted for it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. One does not like to troublepeople; I think I shall use my own discretion.After all, I scarcely hope that anyone will wear it.”

“Could I be of use to you?”

“It is too cold for you to take off your dress.”

“Oh, no! Let me do it, just to feel I’ve donesomething in the day.”

“Thank you,” said Mariana. “You are neithertoo tall nor short. I think it would show to105advantage on a figure like yours. I’ll fit it for justsuch a one as you.”

She cut a piece from the soft piles of satin, andbegan to shape it to a bodice lining.

“Are you going to try it on withsatin?” askedRosalie, astounded at such extravagance.

“Yes; inside and out must be both alike for aperfect finish. I might use silk, but I prefer thesame material.”

What a marvellous fitter on she was! and yet howwonderfully patient Rosalie stood, the whole longevening through. It was no light twenty minutes—noteven an hour—but dragged out into three.

Mariana forgot herself evidently in her occupation,and had no mercy on the model she was fitting.She treated her as a thing of wood and stone tillshe had realised the full effect in fit of bodice, skirt,and train, which, when perfected, she removed andfolded into tissue papers, all labelled for the purposenear at hand. Then suddenly when all was finishedshe looked at her, and saw how deathly white herface had grown under the lengthened strain.

“Ah! now you are ill, and I am to blame for it,”she said.

But Rosalie shook her head, though she shivered.

“It’s the cold; everything is so damp downhere.”

“Yes. Indeed, it has been kind of you. I neverhoped to get a model. We can’t ask favours of eachother here, and I’m sorry if I tired you; but—but—Idon’t know whether it may not be against the rule,so it was best to complete it before the Master came,in order to plead ignorance.”

Truly this last was the most human thing Mariana106had ever said to her, the only deviation from a hard,set rule of living.

“Yes,” said Rosalie, smiling despite the faintnessand shivering that overcame her. “When you’vedone a thing no one can say anything, can they?At least, they can’t say much.”

Mariana helped her on with her customary dress,and just then the clock outside struck nine.

“My work-time is up now,” she said. “I willreturn with you.”

Perhaps no one ever greeted fire, and light,and warmth as Rosalie did when back in thesmall sitting-room in the storey up above. Inbed at night she remembered the moths that hadflickered round the dim light, and round her also,as if claiming this work as soon as finished, andidentifying her with it, so it almost seemed to her.And yet how beautiful the thing had looked, howout of place with its surroundings! Suddenly greattears of bitterness fell on the pillow for this lonelywoman, so utterly without the pale of humansympathy, and yet so uncomplaining. Howbeautiful she was! Once during the fitting onshe had thrown a piece of satin on her shoulder,too busy for the second to turn round and put itdown. And how its ivory smoothness had matchedthe smoothness of her neck and cheek. How wellit had contrasted with her dark eyes and hair. Andthen there was about her such a nameless grace andgentle refinement! Yet there she had worked inthe cold, damp cell, and been content to work, withapparently no hope for the future, but moths andmildew and decay.

It was in the midst of these reveries on Mariana107that Rosalie fell asleep, to wake many timesthroughout the night, shivering, to think herselfalone within that gloomy room below, tried on forshrouds by ghosts with horrid grinning laughter.

It was a night in no wise likely to raise Rosalie’sspirits from the curious depths of unreality and painwhere they had fallen; yet towards morning she fellinto a sleep so deep, that she never awoke from ittill Mariana came to call and waken her.

“Mariana,” she said, “you promised you wouldshow me Mr. Todbrook’s portrait yesterday, andyou never did.”

“It is in the picture-gallery. You could havefound it for yourself.”

“I don’t know where the picture-gallery is.”

“I had forgotten. If you wait for me in thecorridor after breakfast I will show it to you.”

So after breakfast Rosalie went out into thepassage to wait for her.

The gallery was downstairs in that same wing,facing toward the gardens, where the conservatorywas.

It was a very large gallery, longer than broad,with polished floor, and seats upholstered in redvelvet stood along the walls. The light wasadmitted from the roof, but very beautiful electriccandelabra hung from the ceiling, which was allpanelled and carved in black oak.

Mariana led the way to the portrait of the lateowner of the Marble House. There he stood inthe correct evening dress for a man of his position,with one hand leaning on a table and the otherby his side. He was slightly built and scarcely ofmiddle height, with a refined, delicate, and quiet108face, and a look of wistful melancholy in his eyesthat interested and attracted Rosalie.

“Who painted it?” she asked, after studying itfor some time.

“I don’t know. There is no name to it. I thinkmyself the Master may have done it. It was paintedafter death.”

“From his corpse?” asked Rosalie, in horror.

“Oh, no! From memory, I should say.”

“Does Mr. Barringcourt paint, then?”

“In his spare time, yes. I think he must havedone this. I don’t know who else could. Evenmillionaires are bad to remember when once they’vepassed away.”

“Is it like him?”

“I don’t know. But Everard says it is almostlifelike.”

“Who is Everard?”

“The man who keeps the door.”

“I don’t like him at the door. Do you?”

Mariana looked up with almost startled eyes.“Don’t like him? I like everyone.”

“I don’t like him,” persisted Rosalie. “He’s oneof those men who always does what he is told. IfMr. Barringcourt told him to wring your neck round,or mine, he’d do it soon—as soon as wink.”

“Of course,” said Mariana, as if that were the acmeof perfection.

“Well, he has neither heart nor head. Now, ifMr. Barringcourt told me to wring your neck, I’d tellhim to do it himself, I’d had no practice that way.”

Mariana looked at her in utter surprise, and thensuddenly she sank back upon the velvet seat, andbegan to laugh. Unhappily, her merriment did not109last, for almost as suddenly she jumped up again,her face white with pain, and her features drawn andcontracted.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake don’t make me laugh!The pain at my heart is something terrible,” and shecaught Rosalie’s arm in her hand, quite unconsciousof the strength of the grip she had taken.

In surprise and alarm, the unconscious offenderstood still.

“What is it?” she gasped at length. “Is the painvery bad?”

Mariana looked at her and nodded.

“Talk about one’s heart breaking,” she said, witha wintry smile. “Every time I laugh I get thatfeeling.”

“Let us go away,” said Rosalie, noticing that thegreat pallor of her face did not decrease.

“Yes. It’s time I was back at—at the weddinggarment.”

“But you’re not going to that damp, dark placethis morning, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall come with you.”

“No. I told Everard, and he does not approve.”

“But he is not master here.”

“No; but his advice is very good to go upon.”

“Did I not tell you how heartless he was?”

“You mistake what is meant for kindness. Letus go.”

In the central hall she took leave of Rosalie, anddisappeared inside the gloomy eastern wing. AndRosalie made no further attempt to come with her,for her horror of the previous night was still fresh inher mind.

110“I don’t know how Mariana can do it,” she thought,standing still in the great hall. “It’s killing her.She looked like death this morning. And to go thereright away, to be buried in that damp sepulchre!It’s terrible, terrible! Ihate Mr. Barringcourt! He’sbad—right-down bad! The worst man I know!”

But then she knew so very few.

She was awakened from this reverie to findEverard, the doorkeeper, coming toward her.

Her first impulse was to turn away and walktoward the staircase, which she did.

“Miss Paleaf!”

His tone attracted her immediate attention. Therewas a certain strong gravity in it that appealed towhat gravity and steadiness there was in her.

“Yes,” she answered, turning round to view thiswringer of necks in prospective.

“You have endeavoured to do an incredibleamount of harm since coming here. Don’t you thinkit would be advisable to practise a little self-control?”

“Yes. I think if it were practicable it would beadvisable to shut myself up in a tin box, or oak,perhaps, and turn round once a week for recreation.”

“You rush from one extreme to the other withoutany attempt at reason.”

“And—and you?”

“For Mariana’s sake I wish to advise you to becareful.”

“Not for my own?”

“No. I know nothing about you, and you seempretty capable of looking after yourself.”

Rosalie looked at him, not knowing whether herdislike was growing or lessening.

“Do you know you’re taking a great liberty?”111she said, her colour rising despite her efforts tokeep cool.

“Yes. And under the circumstances it ispardonable.”

“What circumstances?”

“You are doing your best to destroy thehappiness and peace of a working woman.”

“Happiness! Happiness! Do you call ithappiness to be fastened up in there the greaterpart of the day-time?” And she pointed tothe door through which Mariana had passed ashort time before.

“When she is contented it is, at least, the nearestapproach to happiness. And your ignorant meddlingcan never have a good result.”

Then Rosalie was silent, and with no heart toanswer she turned away, and went upstairs to thelittle sitting-room.

Her own heart ached enough in all conscience.O God! to be free! away from all this coldnessand hardness, and gloom and silence.

She buried her face in her hands and cried fromutter dejection. When she went to wash her handsand face for dinner, she was dismayed at her ownplain looks. She was very far from being ready fora meal, and made little attempt or pretence at eatingwhat was placed before her. At last the young manwho waited on her presented a red lozenge to heron a silver plate.

“What is it?” she asked, not being accustomedto this particular dish.

“The nutriment you require to keep you inhealth. You have eaten nothing, and this is lesstroublesome if you have no appetite.”

112She frowned in indecision, and for one minutelooked at him and then at it. Then withoutanother word she ate the contents of her plate,and afterwards a plate of plain milk pudding.

But when alone again the same weak desire tocry began to gain upon her, and it was only aftera very hard fight she overcame it.

“I don’t know how it is,” she sighed. “Theymake you do things here however much you don’twant to. I wonder now if the eating of my dinnerwas a lesson in self-control.”

Then she went back to her bedroom and shutthe door, and knelt down by the bed to pray, ifprayer it could be called. Despite her efforts,everything was most incoherent and jumbled, brokenby big sobs, and ending in no prayer at all, butsilence. At last the silence must have brought itseffect of soothing, for Rosalie rose from her kneeswith scarcely a vestige of the past emotion uponher face. She combed her hair and smoothed herdress, and then went for her hat.

“I’ll go into the garden,” she said, “and see ifI can see the city.”

It was a glorious afternoon, with just sufficientsharpness for autumn in the air. It was considerablyafter three by the tower clock, and sherecognised with regret there was time for littlemore than an hour there. Her hopes were realised.From the top of the red bank of flowers she couldview the city very plainly. She saw right across tothe high-standing temple, with every building ofnote and height rising in between. Behind her shecould see nothing, for the wall rose exceptionallyhigh, but from here she could look in the direction113of the old home, and to that other magnificenterection that contained all the best prayers andaspirations of her dumb life.

After all, to look on to the sights of freedom isin a measure to the prisoner freedom itself.

From the city beyond, Rosalie’s eyes wanderedback toward the mansion. There was somethingwanting in it; its magnificent outline attractedand repelled.

“What a lovely fairy story one could write aboutit,” she sighed. “It seems to me a kind of haunted,sleeping palace; and everything looks so strong, anddark, and silent, and yet beautiful, that I don’t knowwhether the story would have to turn out wellor ill.”

She sat down on the rustic seat with the arbourof trailing leaves twining above it, and dreamilycontemplated the wide expanse of city.

Suddenly she heard the ominous striking of themansion clock.

One! two! three! four! five!

Rosalie turned her eyes from the sky and lookedat it. A faint pink flush from the sun was shiningon it, and she clasped her hands.

“I won’t go in. They can’t do anything to me ifI don’t. Five o’clock! the very nicest time of allthe day—the only time to see the city and the sunlook at their best. It isn’t wrong of me; I know itisn’t. I haven’t done anything wrong that I shouldbe a prisoner. I haven’t, really. I feel I haven’t!”

The sunset deepened.

Suddenly the great gates leading from the gardenflew open to admit a dog-cart and one chestnut horsedriven by Mr. Barringcourt. Behind him sat a114groom, and as they took the sweep of drive leadingpast her toward the terrace steps, her eyes fell on thehorse and man in livery.

She saw that they did not belong to this place.What was there about everyone who lived herethat made them different from all else? Thatgroom was just the ordinary groom that one sawevery day within the streets and parks.

As Mr. Barringcourt passed below he suddenlylooked up, and catching sight of her, took off hishat and smiled. Rosalie’s heart gave a leap ofexcitement.

The flush of evening had dyed her pale cheeks,and given lustre to her eyes. She watched thelight vehicle draw up below the central steps, sawMr. Barringcourt dismount, and the groom lead thehorse away by the shorter carriage drive. Rosalieclasped her hands and watched, and made no signof moving down.

And the sunset deepened.

For one minute Mr. Barringcourt stood on thesteps looking at his boots, or maybe on the ground,in apparent thoughtfulness; then he turned roundwith sudden decision, and crossed the lawn to thepath leading towards the bank of flowers where shestood. Yet no step downward did Rosalie take inthat direction, and so he came up the narrow,winding path, and very shortly reached her.

And how different from all the others he appeared!How full of life and animation! how strong! howquick at seeing, and therefore understanding!

How weak and lifeless her hand felt in his! Andsuddenly she felt that intense admiration for strengthwhich all weak things must have. Yet she searched115his face narrowly for that tired and weary look thatshe had seen there twice before.

Her scrutiny was well returned. Out of thepurity of a lonely spirit longing for some companionshipher clear eyes had looked full into his, theending of a day of weakness and tears and silentwaiting. And under the deep scrutiny of thosestronger eyes she had not power to look aside tillevery little secret not worth hiding had been read.Then having got rid of all the weakness, Rosaliecame to the reserve strength.

She drew her hand out of his, and asked suddenly,with an everyday interest:

“Have you any horses of your own, Mr.Barringcourt, or do you hire them all?”

“I have my own; but they’re too good foreveryday work.”

“But when do you exercise them?”

“Occasionally at midnight I give them a runround. They are black, so they don’t show. Nordo they advertise their coming by too muchnoise.”

This time she looked at him with puzzledincredulity.

“What do you mean?”

“What I say. Why are you waiting here?”

“To see the sun set.”

“It has set.”

“I’m waiting for the afterglow.”

And as she spoke, the whole sky from east towest flushed to a sudden lowering crimson. It wasreflected on his face, on hers, shone from the manywindows—red—red—a sea of golden red and coppercolour, dyeing all things.

116“But you have no business out here after sunset,have you?” he said.

“I don’t know. You should be judge of that.”

“I’m judge of nothing except the mood I’m in,and to-day I’m not sorry to find you here; but it’srather a dangerous game to play in a place wherestrict discipline is observed. Don’t you know it?”

“No. I couldn’t imagine any punishment worsethan being a prisoner.”

“Could you not? Oh, there are many worse.You are a prisoner at large, you must remember.”

“The reason why I stayed out is because I couldthink of nothing I had done wrong.”

“Are you a good judge of your misdoings?”

“I don’t know. A tongue makes things socomplicated.”

He laughed. “What have you been doing since Iwent away?”

“Trying to be contented, and help Mariana.”

“Help Mariana?”

“Yes. I tried on a dress for her last night, butthe room was so gloomy I dare not go again thismorning.”

“What kind of a dress were you trying on?”

“A wedding-dress that gave me the shivers. Doyou know, Mr. Barringcourt, I think Mariana themost splendid woman I ever met.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, and I think she’s the most shamefullyill-used woman, too.”

“No one is ill-used, except dogs and dumb animalsin general.”

Rosalie gave him one of her sidelong penetratingglances.

117“Well,” said she, “there are dumb animals anddumb animals; Mariana is dumb.”

“Indeed!”

“What I mean is, she never complains.”

“Very sensible of her. There is no one to listen.”

“There is Everard! She asks his advice uponeverything.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes. She talks about everything but her ownhard life.”

“That is why you wish her to speak about it.Did she do so, you would wish her silent. Theworld is very contrary, Rosalie.”

He stepped aside to let her pass before him downthe narrow path. There was no alternative but toobey, as the sunset had now completely died away, andthe dusk of night and its accompanying chillinesshad wandered in, bringing a sense of desolation, ofmisery.

The Master did not lead the way to the side door,but approached the central one. He let himself inby touching some spring acting in the toad’s head,and Rosalie followed with a creepy sense of awe asshe passed between these high doors, with theirmagnificent workmanship all hidden in the dusk.

The darkness of the big conservatory was partlydispelled by tiny electric lights, coloured crimson,that glimmered here and there among the foliagelike glow-worms in a forest. As they passed thepicture-gallery, Mr. Barringcourt noticed that thedoor was open.

“Who has been in there?” he asked.

“Mariana and I went this morning to see Mr.Todbrook’s portrait. Who painted it?”

118“I did—from memory. A man’s best friend shouldrepresent him most faithfully. Don’t you think so?”

“But had you nothing to work from?”

“Oh, no! Nothing but memory. Memory is avery wonderful thing if one only cultivates it.”

“If I died, do you think you could paint me?”asked Rosalie, turning her face up to his.

“No,” he answered. “I have not known you quitelong enough. I could attempt nothing better than acaricature at present.”

She laughed, and said: “I must endeavour to livea little longer, then.”

Together they entered the central hall, and sawMariana standing waiting there. When she sawRosalie she stepped towards her, but on seeing Mr.Barringcourt beyond her she stood still.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked.

“For Rosalie. It is long past her time for comingin.”

“You have wonderful patience to stand herewaiting. Anyone else would have gone to look forher.”

“If one waits long enough one generally gets whatone wants,” she answered, rather irrelevantly.

“Well, don’t stand there any longer. You’re notneeded.”

“Thank you.”

She turned away with grace and easy dignity, andwalked toward the staircase; but when there shelooked across at Rosalie.

“Tea is ready.”

What a dungeon-knell there was in those threewords! Tea in that little shabby sitting-room, awayfrom everything of light, or life, or understanding.A piece of bread, a cup of tea and whatever else wasgoing, eaten alone, and the dreariness of a long dullevening beyond. And somehow or other the thoughtof the evening frightened Rosalie. It was so dark.120The long passages above so ghostly, dim, and silent.And below? She shivered and looked towards thedoor of the eastern wing, that in some unaccountableway seemed to pervade all things with its shadowand odour of graves.

So though Mariana, after she had spoken, stood stilland waited a while for the effect of her words, Rosaliedelayed to follow her.

The freedom and grandeur of the sunset wasstill running in her veins; the pleasantness of conversationand companionship had its influence onher also.

“Ought I to go?” she asked suddenly, looking upat Mr. Barringcourt.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. If you admire Marianaas much as you profess I think you should go.”

“It isn’t a case of Mariana. It’s me—myself.”

“Well, what of you?”

“I’d much rather stay, and have my tea with—withyou.”

“I don’t indulge in tea.”

“Then do they insist on your eating a red lozengeinstead?”

“Oh, no! They recognise that I am quite able tolook after myself.”

“Everard told me I was capable of doing that.And yet at dinner-time to-day I was presented witha red lozenge on a silver salver to take the place ofordinary food.”

“And you accepted it?”

“No, I didn’t. But if you don’t have tea, I’dbetter leave you.”

“I’ll waive a point to-night. I have had sopleasant a holiday that it is somewhat distasteful121to settle down again. Go and remove your hat, andcome down.”

But when Rosalie essayed to move towards thestaircase she found Mariana gone, and suddenly shestood still.

“Why do you stop?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m frightened! I really am! I dare not goabout this place at night by myself. I don’t knowhow it is, but I dare not.”

“Nothing will hurt you.”

“It’s the shadows and the darkness—and thesilence.”

“Run along. It’s your imagination.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing to be frightenedof?”

“Nothing!”

So Rosalie went, and returned like the wind. Hereyes shone with fear, and her breath came in quickpants.

“What did you see?” he asked, laughing.

“Nothing! I did not stay long enough.”

So then, in the comfortable cheerfulness of Mr.Barringcourt’s study, they had tea.

Rosalie sat in the big arm-chair by the fire; he inhis customary one drawn from the table. Very proudshe felt to pour out tea, and quite forgave the youthwho waited on them for his officious behaviour of themorning. Besides, this was such delicious tea. Itwas not a bit like that which she had upstairs. Thechina was superb, with far richer colours than CrownDerby, or anything at all resembling it upon theplanet Lucifram.

No wonder that, in the midst of all this luxuryand comfort, with a glorious fire and sufficient122light, she heaved an unconscious sigh of greatcontentment.

“Still discontented?” asked Mr. Barringcourt,breaking the heavenly silence.

“Oh, no! Just the opposite. I sighed because Iwas so happy.”

“Have you any book on etiquette?” he continued,casting an eye round his own well-filled book-shelvesthoughtfully.

“Etiquette? What is that?”

“Good behaviour, I think, but I’m not sure.”

“No, I haven’t any book on etiquette; but Iremember what my aunt taught me.”

“Well, what did she tell you?” he asked, leaninghis head against the chair-back, and looking acrossat her out of half-closed eyes.

“She told me always to be polite to people, andunselfish. You see, there wasn’t much else she couldtell, because I couldn’t talk.”

“To be polite and unselfish! Umph! that’s goodbehaviour, is it? I think I’ve explained etiquettewrongly to you, then.” After a silence he continued:“I believe etiquette has to do with correct behaviour.Do you know anything about that?”

“Oh! I expect that is being stiff. No, I don’tknow anything about that. We weren’t at all stiffat home. You see, there was no need to be. Wehad no servants nor anything, and we always saidwhat we thought. At least, uncle and aunt did, andI listened. But why are you asking about it?”

“I’m very undecided in my mind about you.”

“Yes. I get very undecided about myself sometimes.I don’t think aunt would approve of mealtogether now.”

123“In what way?”

“My tongue. It is so sharp, you know. You saidit was.”

“Oh! I’m not thinking about your tongue. I amtrying to settle whether we are breaking the laws ofetiquette in thus drinking tea together.”

“Oh, no! The curates always do it, and theyare more correct than anybody. They like you tooffer them tea. Aunt used to say so.”

“Then we are just as we should be?”

“Yes. Does Lady Flamington never come tohave tea with you?”

“No; I generally go there.”

“Well, it’s just the same.”

“Who told you of Lady Flamington?”

“Mariana. Mariana does not give you a very goodcharacter, you know?”

“And is your strength of mind great enough towithstand her libels?”

“Well, yes. I like to form my own opinions.Besides, the best fun is, Mariana does not understandshe’s saying anything against you. She tells me allkinds of things, taking you quite for granted.”

“When do you find time for these interestingconversations?”

“At night—and sometimes in the early morning.She never neglects her work to gossip. But when shetalks it’s always to the point.”

“Rosalie, if you wish to possess any fascination,which is another word for beauty, you must learn tokeep all your thoughts, opinions, and feelings toyourself. It is not conducive to interest to be toldof a person’s state too freely. One must be left tofind it for oneself.”

124“Do you find me uninteresting?”

“Very much so. I do not know another man ofmy acquaintance on Lucifram who would tolerateyour company for half an hour.”

Her eyes travelled to his with a very real and livingpain in them.

“I don’t know anything about men except thatthey’re very clever. But I’d be quite content to earnthe good graces of the women.”

“Why either?”

“Oh, because one must be friendly somewhere. Itwould be awful to have no friends at all, men orwomen.”

“How many friends would you need forhappiness?”

“As many as I could get. You see, when you’repoor you can’t expect to have many.”

“And when you’re rich you have less.”

“No, indeed. I’m sure you have heaps of friends,Mr. Barringcourt.”

He laughed in a harsh, dry sort of way.

“You flatter me. In reality, I have no more friendsthan you.”

“But Lady Flamington?—Why, Mariana says sheis in love with you.”

Mr. Barringcourt bit his lip; but the smile debarredaccess there travelled to his eyes.

“Well, what if she is in love with me, as you call it.That makes her one of my worst enemies.”

“Oh, no! To love anybody is to be their best andbiggest friend.”

“I grant if the love be disinterested; but then, howoften is it so?”

“What does disinterested mean?”

125“I don’t know, I’m sure,” he answered impatiently;“you must look it out in a dictionary.”

“I’m sorry,” Rosalie answered meekly, “but Ithought disinterested meant unselfish—and I can’tunderstand love being anything else.”

“Can’t you? Then you have much to learn.Why do you love the Serpent?”

The question came with unexpected rapidity.

“I don’t. I—I—I—” Another pause upon thethrice repeated unlucky vowel—and Rosalie shiveredfrom head to foot quite coldly.

“Is this an attempt at fascination?”

The tone was so cold and cruel, and the wordscarried so sharp a sting, that they cut Rosalie’s heartlike some whip might have done.

She shook her head.

“I don’t understand the Serpent,” she said, rubbingher hands against the chair arm. “How, then, can Ilove it?”

“That implies that youdo understand the Serpent,and therefore you are not disposed to love him.”

“You aspire to understand me better than Iunderstand myself.”

“Oh, no! I take you at your own word. I askedyou did you love the Serpent, and you said, ‘I don’t.’Surely there was not much to understand in that.”

“Don’t let us quarrel,” pleaded Rosalie.

“Quarrel? Quarrel? Oh, no, certainly not. I hadno intention of quarrelling with you. I rememberyour telling me the other day you had no particularaffection for the god of Lucifram.”

“But doyou love the Serpent?”

“Oh! I—I—I—”

“That is unkind of you, and not polite.”

126“We ought to have your aunt here to act aschaperon. They say it’s scarcely wise to leave aman and woman to themselves, and now I recogniseit.”

But Rosalie was not far behind in the argument.From cold shivers she began to experience a certainamount of heat.

“I don’t know about a chaperon,” she said. “Ithought a chaperon was a woman who looked aftera woman, and I should like to know who looks afterthe men? Chaperons are silly and stupid, andwomen, if they were honest, would say they wantedto have nothing to do with them. Besides, it wasyou who lost your temper then. I didn’t a bit. Ihaven’t yet, only you annoyed me by the way youspoke.”

“I? lost my temper?”

“Yes, of course. You know you did. You thinkI’ve got a secret, and I haven’t; so if you don’t like,you needn’t be nice to me any more.”

And Mr. Barringcourt laughed. Under that laughRosalie shrivelled up like a white butterfly under thebreath of ice.

“But I do like,” he answered, still laughing. “Youmust not quote from Mariana. It is too absurd.And so you have no secret. I can scarcely imaginea woman without one, nor a man.”

The merciless mocking eyes were fixed on her,so that she seemed incapable of moving. There rosewithin her a terrible weakness, a longing to lean onhim, to be guided by his advice, to speak of all thosedoubts that preyed upon her mind, and state the fewplain facts that raised them. Again, as before in thegarden, she recognised that he was strong, and she127was very, very weak. She looked across at him.There was little of sympathy on his face—much ofcontempt and ridicule—and Rosalie, sensitive to both,shrank from it and him.

A very awkward pause followed—to her, at least.

“I think the tea-party is ended,” he said, gettingup and pushing his chair back to the table. “It wasvery enjoyable whilst it lasted, but there is such athing as folk outstaying their welcome.”

But still she sat still, and made no effort to rise.

“What has made you angry?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. You say I’m angry, so Imust be. You should be able to discover the causewhen you’ve noticed the effect.”

“I can’t. But when I stumble or stammer I noticeit always puts you out.”

“Then don’t do it.”

“I’ll try not. But if I sometimes said the things Ithought, they’d sound so foolish that you’d laugh atthem.”

“They could not possibly be more foolish thanthe things you say.”

“Are all the women of your acquaintance verysensible and clever?”

“More or less so. Of course, they have theadvantage of education and upbringing; but still thatdoes not do away with the fact that they possessmany natural gifts.”

“It must be very nice to possess natural gifts.”

“Yes. Few women are born without them.”

“Am I one of the few?”

“So far as I can judge you are. With talent andcleverness, you should be able to escape fromprison.”

128“But I’m staying here on principle. I neverthought of trying to get away.”

“That shows your inherent stupidity, and asurprising lack of spirit. Cannot you find a door ofescape?”

Rosalie shook her head and sighed.

“No,” she answered. “I thought of the chimneyonce, but that was absurd.”

“Can you think of no other door?”

“No. It’s no good my trying to get out whereevery door is either locked or guarded.”

“You have not wit enough to think of one, youmean?”

“Perhaps so,” she answered, and looked at himwith eyes full of a great and wistful longing to betold.

“Well, I’ll tell you. There is the door of my heart.Any other woman would have thought of it at once.”

She shook her head.

“I’ve had no practice that way. I shouldn’t knowhow to go about to find it.”

“No? As women go, you are intensely stupid.You possess all the disadvantages of a school-girl,without any of the attractions of youth.”

“I’m not very old,” said Rosalie. “I’m onlytwenty-three.”

“There you are again. You can keep nothing toyourself.”

“I only told you what my age was.”

“Well, I’ve none of the curiosity of a census paper,and women who tell their ages are a pest.”

“But why?”

“Because it is either a boast or a lie. Both areobjectionable. Keep your age to yourself. No one129wants to know it, and if they do, let them find out orguess.”

“Is that what the clever women do?”

“I don’t know. If you become a clever woman atsecond hand, you will become an abomination.”

“What must I do then?”

“Remain stupid.”

“Then I’ll never get away.”

“Oh, no; as soon as I pointed the way I blockedit. Had you discovered it yourself, it might havebeen unguarded.”

“I don’t believe you would have let me through,even if I had found it out.”

“Of course not. One never believes that whichtouches one’s vanity.”

Rosalie sighed. What a contrary mood hadsuddenly seized him! She got up, with little of lifeor spirit in her movements.

“Then if you find me so very dull I won’t comeagain. Three years seem a long time, but I have nodoubt God will help me to live through them.”

He laughed.

“God, being dumb, refuses no one, least of allreligious women, they force themselves upon Him sopersistently. Yes, I shall be glad to be relieved ofyour company for a while. And so please confineyour wanderings to the upper storey where you live.And leave the garden to those who can appreciate itsbeauty sufficiently to be in by five o’clock.”

Rosalie looked at him. Pain and fear was on herface.

“Live upstairs!”

“Yes; live upstairs. And eat red lozenges whenyour appetite is bad. You can’t die, you know.”

130She turned toward the door.

“Good-night!” he said, drawing an open booktoward him on the table, and sitting down.

“Good-night! I see now my fault and punishmentin staying out of doors beyond the time.”

For only answer he laughed. As he did so thedoor closed.

So full of pain and heaviness was Rosalie that allher childish fear had vanished. She passed up theslippery staircase into the corridor, from which herown small sitting-room was.

Never to go downstairs again for three long wearyyears! Never to be out of the grey, silent, ghostlyshadows of those upper rooms—never to have humancompanionship or friendliness! A part of themeaning floated through her mind, and cast itsheavy shroud on all things.

It was still early in the evening, too early forMariana to return from the work which held her.She sat down in the high-backed chair before thefire, and listlessly looked into it. The flames burntlow. There was none of the brightness of the otherday in them—no whispered message of hope.

Rosalie’s spirit ached more from the cruel heartlessnessof the Master’s conduct than even from thethought of coming imprisonment. For this was inthe present—that the future. None had ever spokenso to her before—sharply, no doubt but never withthis harsh and cruel coldness. Every feeling in hersimple nature seemed outraged and lacerated. Onceonly she moved uneasily in her chair, as one undergoessome great pain, and cried, or rather moaned:

“It’s unfair—unfair! I haven’t done anything132that’s wrong, and it was silly and stupid of me toever think of coming back again.”

At last the door opened, and Mariana entered withsupper. Rosalie did not turn round till they werealone again, and scarcely even then, till Marianacame and stood beside her, and looking down,said:

“Rosalie, why did you not come in at fiveo’clock?”

“Don’t ask me. I was foolish. There is no otherreason.”

“Is Mr. Barringcourt’s company more agreeablethan mine?”

“I thought it was, and have paid the penalty.Don’t reproach me. I can’t stand it to-night.Perhaps to-morrow.”

“I don’t wish to reproach you. Once I thoughtthe same, for an hour or two, like you. But I gotover it as you have done. You will not care for hiscompany now?”

“No.”

“That is well. I suppose you know you are notto go downstairs again?”

“Yes. What am I to do, Mariana, to pass thetime away?”

“I don’t know of anything. I wish you had comein by five o’clock. There are so many interestingthings below.”

Rosalie laughed.

“Oh, I didn’t come in, so there’s an end of it!I’ll take supper now and go to bed.”

She sipped the glass of warm milk silently, andthen together they went to bed. How cold it was inthe corridor. How ill lit and melancholy it appeared133And Rosalie lay awake, with burning tears, whichwere never shed, in her eyes.

Three years! And Mr. Barringcourt had said awoman of brains or spirit would have forestalledthem and have escaped.

And then it seemed as if across the silence therecame that clear, pure voice that spoke to her before,after her aunt was dead: “Neither brains nor spirit,but the path directed.”

And silence and sleep and comfort fell—night’sgentle curtain and soft pillow for all weary heads.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, long or short, accordingto the circumstance. Each resembled somelong and silent eternity of Nothingness. Here wasnothing to do. Mariana said there was nothing, andshe knew best.

“Bring me a little bit of sewing.”

But she shook her head. “I cannot bring it fromthe workroom.”

“Then something from above.”

“There is nothing. Each has her work; for youthere is none.”

“Have you no books?”

“Mr. Barringcourt has the key to the library. Ican ask him for one if you like.”

But Rosalie shook her head. “No, thank you.”

And how difficult she found meal-times, when shemust force down food against all wish and inclination.Sunday and Monday it was managed fairly well, buton the Tuesday at dinner-time Rosalie recognisedthe task was quite beyond her.

“All this tastes of cobwebs and damp soil,” shesaid. “If I must have one, give me one of thoselittle lozenges you offered me the other day.”

134It was brought. She took it with a glass of water,then rose from her seat. When she got to the doorshe turned round. Her pretty eyebrows wereslightly raised, and she laughed.

“That was essence of cobweb, I believe. Thankyou; I feel better already for it.”

All was lost upon the youth; he bowed gravely,and returned no answer, and Rosalie went away.

Up and down! Up and down the long dimcorridor she walked, with nothing to do but thinkor mope, or grow melancholy through despair.

After tea Rosalie did not venture out beyond thesitting-room, for the old fear of the darkness hadreturned; and moreover, to-night a strange wearinessoppressed her. At last she fell asleep. Her headrested on the table, and she slept there for nearly anhour.

A little after nine came Mariana and thesupper.

“How is the dress progressing?” asked Rosalie.

“It is doing very well.”

“How is Everard?”

“He is very well.”

“Have you seen Mr. Barringcourt to-day?”

“No. He is away till to-morrow.”

“Have you taken a walk this afternoon?”

“A short one.”

“Where did you go?”

“My customary round. But you must not ask somany questions.”

“But why?”

“Because,” Mariana’s voice sank to a whisper, “ifwe talk much I must leave you, and Sybilla willcome. And she never speaks all the week, except135on my one night out, and then in a language I neverheard before.”

Rosalie’s pale face grew paler. Suddenly she tookMariana’s hand and held it very tight.

“Are—are you making fun of me?” she asked.

The other shook her head, and thus abruptly theconversation ended.

At midnight Rosalie suddenly awoke, to hear thegreat clock striking—a sound which she had neverheard before in that room. The ache and wearinessof the evening had entirely vanished. She sat up inbed and looked round the room, lit by one meagrenight-light. All was as usual, very still; the cornersof the room were all shadowy. In another secondRosalie was standing on the floor looking around herin a puzzled sort of way. Understanding came withthe swiftness of lightning to her brain. She stoodalert, listening, listening, but there was no sound.Quickly and silently she dressed, holding her breath,fearful of being found thus dressing in the middle ofthe sleeping night. Then with courage screwed todesperation she went toward the door.

“If I’m found out, God only knows what willhappen,” she thought and turned the handle.

It had one advantage with all the rest of that bighouse: it was silent.

Mercifully, a few straggling moonbeams lit up theroom, shining from door to door, leaving the restin obscurity. Without glancing toward the shadowybed, she crossed to the outer door, opened it, andstood in the corridor. The fears born of reality andaction had quite killed those of imagination. Sheno longer started at shadows, nor trembled at thedarkness, but went on quickly till she reached the136stairhead. Her shoes she carried in her hand toprevent sound. She feared the slippery staircase,lest she should stumble and waken some lightsleeper. But to-night it seemed scarcely so slipperyas before. Perhaps it was the descent in her unshodfeet. At last she stood safely at the bottom in thelarge hall, with its Spartan plainness and greatrichness. Chairs, each worth some small fortune,statues in bronze and marble, and above all thegreat, oppressive shadow, emanating from thateastern door of glass, polished like diamonds, allmet her fearful glance.

“If—if I fail—if I’m caught, that’s where I go—”

The thought flashed like lightning through hermind, and she looked round breathlessly to find adoorway.

That leading to the conservatory—it stood wideopen. On! On! along the corridor, dark but for onedim electric light, such as was also shining in thehall. Then through the palm-house, and towardthe central doors. A red spot gleamed upon thecentre—the toad’s head—for this door was carvedalike inside and out. Instinctively she touched theshining knob. The door flew open. The cold dampair of night wafted toward her as she stood thusupon the threshold of the garden. Then, closing thedoor behind her, she moved forward to the steps.And here again Rosalie returned thanks to that lightupon the ugly head. For whereas within it showedher where to touch the spring, here it shone with adirect brilliancy that lit up the entire straight pathacross the garden, right across and through thewooded shrubbery at the farther end, that led towardthe stables. For though the faint light of night137might have been strong enough to guide her to theavenue of trees, nothing could ever penetrate thisheavy gloom, save only a light such as this steadyred one, that lit up the whole long path, right to thestables, as clear toward the end as at the beginning.So without trouble she came to the doorless building.One gigantic slab of marble, between two pillars, wasslid back into the wall, and the red light penetratedin beyond. She followed on the path it lit for her,and stood within a sumptuous building. It wascertainly a stable, though at the moment it wasempty.

Here she looked round, not from curiosity, but tofind some means of exit. She walked round manytimes, but found nothing but one small door, morelike a cupboard than a door, built low in the wall,and quite beyond her power to open.

She wrung her hands in despair, and a terriblesweat broke out all over her. No way of escape!Up to now all things had been so easy, as if aidingand abetting her in this wild dream and dash forfreedom.

Suddenly upon the still and ghostly midnight aircame a sound: the rhythmic trampling of horses,and then a neigh half-echoed by another, as thesound came nearer.

“God help me!” she said, and leant against thecarved partition of two stalls, with that deathlikesweat and fear robbing her limbs of any strength ofmotion.

“The key! The key!”

What voice was it that rang so clearly on the night?

She fumbled in her pocket, and found the olddisused one of her uncle’s safe.

138With nothing but desperation for a guidance sheapplied it to the little door, close-built to the ground.It fitted and turned. The door flew open. As it didso, from the garden came the crunching sound ofhorses’ feet on gravel, and of wheels.

The little door closed again. Rosalie was withoutthe precincts of Marble House, and breathed her firstlong sigh of freedom.

But what and where was this place that she hadcome to? Instead of coming out upon a mews ornarrower street of that big city on the planetLucifram, she stood upon the borders of a wood.Foxgloves, cowslips, and pale wood anemonesbordered its shaded paths. She passed onward,conscious of a new sweetness in the air, and acertain subdued light which, though faint, wasquite devoid of shadows.

And oh! to tread upon a path of velvet—velvetof Nature’s making, all soft and soothing to thefoot.

And though the beauties of the forest awed, theydid not trouble her, for their shade was instinct withthe mood that she was in—a mood which had muchof quiet thankfulness, but no elation. With littlefeeling of fatigue she walked along the pleasantpath, coming out at last upon a city all deserted.Its buildings were the most majestic she had everseen. There was no ordinary streets of houses all ina row. The buildings had the strength and beautyof past ages. With courtyards of green, and gateswith armorial bearings, the windows of the houseswere narrow. During the ages, here and there acornice or a step had crumbled, giving a certainhoary majesty to the houses, showing they had long140withstood the inroads of all-conquering Time. Nosound of life enlivened the scene; all was silent asthe house which she had left. In the central squaretwo churches stood, one in a state of erection, one inthe middle stage of being pulled down. Truly it wasvery curious. All around betokened signs of recentworkmanship. But as in dreams one cannot pauseto reason, neither did she.

Through the silent empty streets she passed, andcame once more on to a stretch of country whichrose in hills not far off. These were steep and high,as Rosalie found on coming nearer to them, but thepath bordered with wild flowers led her to and upthem, and when at last she stood upon the summitof one that rose amongst the highest, she lookeddown upon a country of gentle slopes and valleys,and dark stretches of forest. A broad and gloriousriver rolled its even course picturesquely, curving toright and left, here disappearing in the shade of thewoodlands, here glittering in the rising sun. Withmore heart and renewed vigour she descended fromthe hill-top into this pleasant country beyond it.The path led along the boundaries of a wood, andsuddenly there came in sight a low white house,lying far back within a wide expanse of garden,banked with wild flowers of Nature’s growing. Onthe sunny side it was unshaded by the forest, anddeep-coloured peaches were glowing in the light.A low verandah ran along the façade, and manysweet and lovely creepers twined about its slenderpillars. The big front door stood open, also thegarden gate. Rosalie, with tired feet and thankfulheart, went up to it and knocked.

Within was a simply-furnished hall, arranged with141simplest taste. Bowls of roses stood upon the tables,and the windows, in the recesses formed by thewindow seats, were open, admitting straggling stemsof flowers that clustered upward from below. Builtin the wall was a golden fluted organ, the ivorykeyboard open, and all the mystic stops clear to theview.

Rosalie knocked.

A door at the farther end of the house opened,and a youth appeared, coming toward her. Hewas so handsome, and walked with such grace andyouthful brightness, that Rosalie’s heart went outtoward him on the instant. He did not wait forany word of explanation, but said:

“My father will be very pleased to see you. Wehave been expecting your arrival for almost a week.”

“But where did I come from?” asked Rosalie,as taken with his gentle way of speaking as hisappearance.

He laughed.

“I don’t know; but from a hot place and a greatdistance, I should think, or else your wits would neverhave been sharpened to take so long a journey.”

“I wonder how old he is?” thought she. “Fourteenat the most. He should have more respect for methan to speak so—so freely; and yet it’s nice to bespoken to quite humanly again.”

“Yes,” she answered; “I’ve come a very longdistance.”

“Come this way. See my father, and then youmay rest.”

He took her to a room furnished simply, and notunlike that of Mr. Barringcourt’s; and there, seatedat the table, occupied much as he had been in142studying, writing, and arranging papers, was thefather of the boy.

His hair was very white, as white as silver, andhis face was beautiful and clearly cut. He hadan appearance of great age, and his tall figure wasthin and muscular. In some indescribable way hereminded Rosalie of Mr. Barringcourt. A vaguefear began to spring in her mind—for in his dressand manner there was something strangely reminiscent,even though he looked so very old, with hislined face and silver hair.

But he used what Mr. Barringcourt had never used,and that was a pair of glasses; and his glance wasvery keen as he looked up at her above them withbent brows. And whereas Mr. Barringcourt’s eyeswere as black as night, his were of a piercing blue,or some colour very like blue. The quality thatstruck Rosalie most was their intense brightness.

The youth, having admitted her, withdrew, andclosed the door behind him.

“You are punctual, Rosalie, and I’m very pleasedto see you.”

He rose as he spoke, and drew a chair for her,and on the hearing of his kind, grave voice muchpeace and reassurance settled on her.

“I couldn’t help myself,” she answered. “I hadto come. But you can’t be half as pleased to see meas I am to see you!”

He looked at her. “Are you then so much inneed of a friend?”

“Yes; but I think I should make better friendswith your son than you.”

The vestige of a smile crept into his eyes. “Butwhy?”

143“Well, I expect you will be too clever. Youwould soon learn how stupid I was; and thenperhaps we should quarrel.”

Rosalie looked up shyly as she spoke those lastwords. The quarrelling, she felt pretty certain,would be all on his side, as it had been with Mr.Barringcourt, for she would never have presumed sofar.

“You give Billy credit for being more forbearingthan I?”

“Oh, no; I think he will be less observant. I’mvery stupid, you know,” she continued, with herlarge, earnest eyes fixed on his; “and people getvery soon tired of me. I thought it might be justas well to tell you now, in case you might form awrong impression, and then be annoyed after, andblame me for it.”

“Well,” said he, smiling, “that will do for thepresent. Sleep to-night, and in the morning we willhold a longer conversation.”

“But it’s morning now.”

“Oh, no! It’s evening coming on. The sun hasset. No travellers ever come to us with morning.The journey is too long for that.”

“But everybody cannot come to you just at thesame time.”

“Well, pretty much at the same time. We live inthe centre of a circle, and the distance from everydirection is fairly equal.”

“Do you get many travellers?”

“Not compared with many wayside inns. But wehave a select few that are always very welcome, forwe know that they possess some merit, or they wouldnever reach us.”

144“Ah! Then I am afraid I am not equal to therest. I have no merits. Nothing but chance andGod’s goodness brought me to you.”

He smiled. “That is curious coupling,” heanswered. “Chance and God’s goodness.”

“Well, it was so extremely strange and unexpected.”

“We will speak more about it to-morrow. Butnow I will come with you to see what lightrefreshment our house affords.”

He rose from his chair and led the way intoanother room where lamps were lit, though there wasstill much light outside, and a clear fire burning.

“How stupid of me not to notice the sun wassetting. I thought when first I saw it it wasrising.”

“That is a common mistake, much commonerthan you’d think, with those coming from Lucifram.You see, it is the direct turnabout, and it is apt tomuddle one at first.”

“Yes, indeed. What lovely flowers!”

Rosalie was looking at the pretty supper-table andits exquisite decorations. There was something sopure and delicate and delicious about everything,from the snowy linen and flowers all white and flaxencoloured, to the china and vessels of silver and crystalglass. Moreover, there was no shadow lying here.One might eat in happiness and sweet contentment,and the thankfulness born of these.

And moreover, she did not sit down alone. Herhost took his place at the head of the small squaretable, she to the side of him. Every dish was readyserved. But first he offered her a little glass ofpurest sparkling water. Rosalie drank it. Theintense fatigue had vanished almost on the instant.145She made no effort to talk much, for he saidnothing, but ate her supper in silence. Then atlast he rose.

“I will show you to your room,” he said. “Billyhas gone home; he only stayed to welcome you.”

“I thought he was your son?”

“So he is. But this is not my home. It is but atemporary lodging, conveniently situated for businesspurposes.”

“Does no one else live here?”

“No one. You need not be afraid. I am sufficientprotection.”

She followed him with trust and all simplicity tothe bedroom set for strangers. When she was alone,by the light of two soft lights hanging from theceiling, she compared the pure white hangings withthe crimson silks at Marble House. Here, indeed, waslight-heartedness and freedom from all depression;and with her head once on the pillow, she slept thefirst genuine sleep of happiness for many a day.

Marble House lay swathed in the mist of earlymorning. The sun had not yet risen, only that justperceptible twilight that makes known the distantapproach of day was at hand. But one by onevarious lights made their appearance in severalof the upper rooms. The occupants were risingat their accustomed hour. It was close on six.

Mariana also awoke, and with the first return ofconsciousness came the consciousness of loss, vagueand alarming. When the light was turned on shenoticed the door leading to Rosalie’s room wide open,and her own upon the passage standing closed butfor the catching of the clasp. Hurriedly she passed146into the inner room, to find, almost as she anticipated,the bed unoccupied, its inmate gone. She went tothe dressing-room beyond. It also was empty.Then turning back to her own room, she dressedwith a curious silent haste. A dull, murky greysky showed through the window. It caughtMariana’s eye and intruded itself upon hermemory. Then when her toilette was completedshe went out into the corridor. There was no signof Rosalie either in the little sitting-room ordining-room, and the truth forced itself undeniablyupon her. Rosalie had gone—escaped in the night.But where? On second thoughts it seemed impossible.Who ever yet escaped from Marble Housein Greensward Avenue upon the planet Lucifram?She smiled forlornly to think of such a thing. Andthen a sudden fear and trembling for the unhappygirl came over her.

She had tried to escape and had been detected—musthave been detected. There were many cellsin the east wing, and to attempt to escape and failin it was of all crimes most criminal.

A feeling, or the memory of a feeling, surged in herheart, so cold, and even, and restricted. Like somequick-gliding spirit she sought the staircase anddescended, finding Everard arranging a large batchof papers on the table in the hall. He looked up ather approach, and seeing the slight alteration in herfeatures and expression, said to himself, “It’sWednesday,” and went on with his work. Butthe earnestness of her voice attracted him.

“Everard!” There was more in it than her usualsimple, even tone.

He looked up again.

147“Everard! Where is Rosalie? Where have youput her?”

“Rosalie? I have not seen. Is she not upstairs?”

She shook her head.

“Is she in there? You have not put her in there?”and pointed to the right-hand door.

He shook his head impatiently.

“She is nowhere of my putting or knowing. Sheshould be upstairs yet. Eight o’clock is her hour forgetting up.”

“She is not there.”

“Not there?” He put the papers he held in hishand down, and looked at her.

“No. And nowhere else upon the corridor.”

“Have you searched well?”

“Yes. I did not like to wake the others. Do youthink she can possibly have got away?”

“Impossible! The doors are barred—and doublelocked—and spring-locked.”

“I know. But where is she.”

“There must be a search instituted.”

“Thank God the Master is away.”

“He came home last night at midnight.”

His voice was grim as his information was short.

“Come home! Come home!” repeated Mariana.“What shall I do?”

“You had best go and tell him.”

“Is he up?”

“Yes. An hour ago.”

“I can’t go. Do this thing for me, Everard. Inever asked you anything before.”

He looked at her with a face half serious, half cold,then turned in the direction of the west wing.

Mariana sat down on one of the many chairs—a148solitary figure in that big empty hall, with claspedhands and shrinking form, fearing vaguely.

Everard knocked at Mr. Barringcourt’s door, andobeyed the summons to go in. Before Everardcould speak the Master looked up, and said, with apleasantness not always customary in him:

“Good morning, Everard! When Rosalie Paleafhas had breakfast, I want you to see her. Don’tforget to tell Mariana. What is it?”

“She has disappeared in the night!”

“Who?” and the dark brows contracted slightlyas he looked across at the speaker.

“Rosalie Paleaf.”

“Disappeared in the night? Tell fairy stories tothose that believe them.”

“She is not in her bedroom, nor the corridor towhich she was restricted.”

“Who has told you this?” said the Master, gettingup.

“Mariana.”

“Confound Mariana! Go and search house andgardens, and take the search-light, and bring her backin half an hour.”

Everard withdrew.

“Disappeared!” said Mr. Barringcourt, left tohimself, and his brows came together blackly.“That is impossible, without the help of Mariana,”and then he turned to the letter he was writing andfinished it, though it was a long one, before Everardreturned.

On his entrance the Master looked up.

“She is nowhere.”

“You have searched in every place, likely andunlikely?”

149“In every place.”

Then a very cruel light leapt into his eyes, in thatdeep shadow that encircled them, and his lips closedone over the other grimly, as he looked across at thedoorkeeper.

“Who is to thank for this?”

“It was a circumstance quite unforeseen.”

“I don’t doubt it. Where is that heavy-sleepingass, whose snores swallow up footfalls and openingdoors?”

“You mean—”

“I mean your first cousin for dulness of perception.Send me that brainless thing called Mariana.”

Everard withdrew. He walked along the corridoras evenly as usual. Whether doubt or misgiving wasin his mind, it showed nothing in his face.

There, in the outer hall, scarcely having movedduring the whole time, sat Mariana. On the openingof the door she looked up.

“The Master wishes to speak to you.”

“Is he very angry?”

“Nothing but what may be appeased. But youhad better say no more than you can help.”

She got up without a word, and went to thestudy.

“Where is the girl I entrusted to you?” he said,as soon as the door was closed.

“She has escaped during the night.”

“At what time?”

“Between ten and six.”

“The time is vague. You’re a sound sleeper to beable to count eight hours of unconsciousness.”

“I merit it by hard work during the day.”

“Oh! you should have explained this a little150earlier. If your work was too hard, others couldhave been set to watch. Your excuse is admirable.”

“It is no excuse, it is the truth.”

“You never heard a footfall, nor a door creak?”

“No. The doors, as you know, have nevercreaked.”

“I know nothing. You will perhaps enlighten me,and not take too much for granted.”

“I can say nothing but in answer to yourquestions.”

“And you know nothing of the hour of escape?”

“I know only that I saw her safely into bed lastnight, looking utterly tired out. She fell asleepalmost before I left the room. This morning I foundthe door leading from my room into hers standingopen, and that leading to the corridor off the latch.”

“Has she left anything behind her?”

“I found her hat and cloak in the wardrobe; I donot think she can have taken them.”

“Your deduction is beyond argument. A littleless sleep would stir that muddled, dreamy brain ofyours into some semblance, at least, of action.”

“I don’t think it’s the sleep that makes me stupid.It’s the dull greyness of the sky.”

“Maybe. What penalty are you inclined to payfor your neglect and lack of vigilance?”

“It was not neglect. I slept heavier than I haveever slept before. I believe God helped her, for shewas young and good and innocent.”

“You seem to entertain no sorrow for your neglectof duty.”

Her puzzled eyes, tired and questioning, met his.

“No, I do not feel sorry. How can I? She couldnot settle to this prison life as I have done. She151was of a softer and more yielding nature. Whathardens me would soon have killed her altogether.”

“Better be killed than get away alive withoutpermission. And you, being the offender, must bearher punishment beside your own.”

A wintry smile crept to her lips.

“Oh! I am strong enough for any punishment.I have a frame of iron buried in what seems likeflesh. If I have sinned, then name the punishment.But sin at times, if sin this be, brings near an echo ofhappier things beyond this life to conjure.”

“You are too hard-worked, you say.”

“I said I slept the sounder for it.”

“Sound sleeping is a thing for swine. You shallnot work so hard, for you must sleep less heavily.You are intent upon a wedding-gown, I hear. Leaveit unfinished.”

“But I have worked at it three years; the dullestwork is finished. This is the part I love, that makessome compensation for that other thing I worship.”

“And for the double punishment, seeing yourworking hours have been reduced and cancelled,there will be no further need for that night out—excruciatingtorment for the all unhappy listeners.”

“Rosalie loved my playing.” Her dark eyesshone out from a face pale as death.

“No. She was bribing you to stop by flattery.Did she not counsel you to give it up?”

“Ah! that is impossible. I ask nothing but twolittle hours a week. If that goes, I might as well bedead.”

“You might then, for you have done withthem.”

“It was the stipulation when I came here.”

152“You have broken the stipulation by yourcarelessness.”

“What am I to do, then?”

“Nothing. Learn to appreciate the luxury ofidleness.”

“You have not weighed the fairness of such apunishment.”

“You have angered me.”

“Give me but one hour a week, then. Give mebut one.”

“No, not one! Get away out of my sight, lest Ibe tempted to kick you out.”

“Where must I go? I have no place amongst theothers now.”

“There is the workroom. You had best guardwhat you have made from moths. That is sufficientoccupation surely for one who hitherto was too hard-worked.”

“It is a return to the life I led before I came here.”

“The information does not interest me. You liveyour life according to your own making. Go; I haveno more to say to you.”

Mariana’s eyes glittered.

“I would I could appeal to some power withoutagainst this cruel sentence.”

“Oh! there is no power without. The world istoo busy with its own affairs. You had best sinkinto silence gracefully. You have got past the ageof screaming and past the age of tears. You havelet go the only prisoner I set my mind on keeping,and need expect no mercy for it. Imbecile! Go!”

The words were accompanied by an action soindicative of savage irritation that Mariana, withoutfurther reply, turned to the door and left the room.

153Daylight, unaccompanied by much warmth, hadtaken the place of twilight. The lights were out,and morning had begun.

Along the corridor into the central hall, with faceall deathly white, she passed. She met Everardthere. He had waited for her.

He read her untold story by her face, for she neversaid a word, and glided past him like a ghost in apainted picture toward the eastern wing.

The door swung open. Here no light had everpenetrated by night or day, save only the artificialglimmer and pale ghastliness.

Then at No. 13 she stopped, and opened the low-builtdoor. She gave one hurried glance back to thebig double door that shut her off from life, thenpassed into the damp, dark cell, and closed the doorbehind her.

No longer the work that filled with a certainpleasure the long hours of day. To sit there idle,without light, or companionship, or occupation—thatwas her doom now. And then, to give up thatprecious pleasure and intoxicating dream that cameround once a week! She shuddered at the blackthought.

Down she sat upon one wooden chair. And asshe sat, the moths descended one by one about her.But when she sighed they flew far off again. Themoths in flimsy clouds hovered above, and knewquite all too well their time had not come yet.

So there for the present we must leave her—stiff,rigid, and unmoving. Crushed down by pain andheaviness so great, she had no strength to move orcry.

The morning came, and Rosalie awoke, light-heartedand ready to arise. No one came here to call herexcept the sun and singing birds outside the window.None else were needed. When she had dressed, shepassed out on the landing and down the staircase,and seeing the door open to the dining-room whereshe had supped last night, went there. Its openwindows opened on the ground. Breakfast was laidfor two, and as none else was visible she passed outinto the garden, eagerly drinking in the wondrousfreshness of the morning air.

At last she saw the stranger of the night comingtoward her from a gate in a high yew edge thatseparated the garden from whatever lay beyond.He carried a basket in his hand, and as he camenearer Rosalie saw that the basket contained smallseeds. Though he wore glasses when writing in thehouse, he evidently did not need them here. In fact,it did not seem to her that a man with eyes so blueand piercing could ever be short-sighted at all, but stillit must be so. He wore no hat. The sun shone onhis silver hair, a brilliant lustre. He walked withease and gracefulness, and again the odd resemblancein appearance to Mr. Barringcourt recurred to her.

“Good morning, Rosalie! I think a spray offlowers would greatly improve that sombre dress of155yours. Gather what kind you like, and come tobreakfast—it is waiting for us.”

He passed on as he spoke, and disappeared withinthe house.

Following his advice, she gathered a cluster of paleroses, and placed them in her belt. Truly, his words,though simple, had had a very good effect. She nolonger felt she wore a uniform of black and red.The flowers had given the happiest relief.

After breakfast he invited her to his study, “for,”said he, “I wish to have some conversation with youbefore eight o’clock. After that I am engaged tilltwelve, and rarely find much spare time till eveninghas closed, and to-night I cannot spare you eventhat.”

When they were both seated there, he began theconversation by saying:

“Last night you told me you knew of no meritthat could have brought you to me, but I think that,between us, we must endeavour to discover one.Perhaps, if you will repeat your story to me, I maybe of use in finding it.”

So on that Rosalie recounted the story of her earlylife, simply and truthfully, up to that last visit to thetemple. Nor did she omit her meeting with Mr.Barringcourt there, and the short conversation shehad held with him. But on mentioning the lastvisit, after her aunt’s death, she came to a suddenstop, and seemed undecided and unknowing how toproceed.

“You say you went once more inside the sacredcurtain. But why?”

“I felt I had given up so much that the Serpentmust recognise how much I really loved him.156Besides, I felt I wanted to get some real strengthto go on living after every hope and aspiration haddied away.”

“What was it made you wish so badly for atongue?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it was me thatwished; I think it was something else.”

And then she flushed, for that was the style ofspeech Mr. Barringcourt would have ridiculed. Andshe herself recognised that truth at times, to theignorant or wilfully blind, may appear silly andfoolish. But this new acquaintance made no remarkimmediately, only his keen eyes travelled across herface, as if reading something there.

“And that something?” he asked at length.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But it never gave meany peace, and it wasn’t myself, I am sure. SometimesI used to reason that I couldn’t possibly receivethe gift of speech, and yet the inner voice repeated,‘Go on, go on!’ so that, apart from my own greatwish, I was obliged to do as I was told.”

“And you received the gift at last?”

“Yes.”

“On that last visit to the Serpent?”

“No, I—I—I—for that I went to Mr. Barringcourt.”

“The Serpent did not heal you, then?”

“Oh, sir, could it?” Rosalie’s voice was almost aremonstrance.

“Is not the Serpent the God of Lucifram?”

“Yes, and that is what has troubled me soheavily ever since; far more than imprisonmentand harshness.”

“What has troubled you?”

“Perhaps if I tell you, you will think me fanciful.”

157He smiled.

“Fancies are all put to the test here,” he answered,and a certain sternness rang in the kindness of histone that reassured Rosalie, somehow or other, whenshe thought it would have frightened her.

“Well, after I had resigned my will, and prayedfor strength, I closed my eyes, and it seemed as if agreat vision flashed before me in the darkness. TheSerpent seemed to have turned round, and to showthat from the back it was all hollow, and in its threetails, so black and dingy from the inside, threedwarfed jesters sat, with caps and bells, all grinningand pointing, as if to make a mock of everything.And then a fire of purest light and radiance, with acentre of unearthly brightness, more beautiful thanany sight I ever saw, rolled over everything, andburnt the hollow symbol to a cinder with itsall-conquering strength.”

Rosalie’s eyes were shining as they looked acrossinto his.

“And in my mind the same thing must havehappened. For somehow no longer I thought uponthe Serpent. All was changed. Whatever humblelove I had to give, and strength to ask, weregiven and claimed by some wise reasoning Beingfar above, whose faintest breath could shrivel intocinders this grinning mockery worshipped ofman.”

“What of the cinder?”

“Oh! I remember it never burned away. Itshone like a little ball of gold within the fire, andI wondered at the time why it had neverdisappeared.”

Then suddenly she got up and crossed the room158and knelt down beside him, and clasped her handsupon the arm-chair.

“And I believe it,” she said. “I could neverthink of going back to the Serpent after the higherthing; I loved to see the pure white light withinthat glorious fire. It was so peaceful, restful, strongand light-giving. I hardly think I could have spentthe week that followed, with all its brilliant lightsand gloomy blackness, and everything so fresh andnew, had I not had that light so pure and still tothink upon. It was divinest comfort to me even whenthe blackness tried to quite obscure it, and set such aterrible gap betwixt me and every living thing.”

“And after this you left the temple and went toMr. Barringcourt?”

“Yes; there was nothing more to stay for. And Ithink the same thing led me to him that has nowled me to you—calling ‘On! on! on!’ in spite ofeverything.”

“And when you got there?”

“Then he healed me, by a very natural process itseemed, that had little of the miracle about it. ButI felt no pain, and I remember he was very muchsurprised at it.”

“And the cure was perfect?”

“Yes, I think it was too perfect. My tonguebecame most glib and voluble. Words slippedout I often wished unsaid.”

“You had had no practice in restraining them?”

“Well, no. But I think myself Mr. Barringcourtreally did oil the wheels of my tongue too freely,because I don’t think by nature I should ever begiven to answering back. But when I was therethat seemed the one thing in life I was capable of.”

159She had risen from her knees and walked towardsthe fireplace.

“But what reason should he have for doingso?”

Rosalie looked at him sideways. Then suddenlyshe laughed.

“You’ve got to learn some day how intenselystupid and simple I am, so perhaps you had betterknow soon as late. Well, I think the reason why hebrought my tongue to such a pitch of volubility wasbecause he is very keen on finding out all secrets,and he thought I should save time and trouble bybeing made very talkative.”

“He is keen on finding out secrets?”

“Yes; it sounds silly, but it’s true. He was mostpeculiar. If other men are like him, I pity the womenthat have to deal with them, and often think howfortunate my aunt was, for uncle was most quietand peaceable.”

“Your experience of people is not very great.”

She sighed.

“No; I could not tell whether he was like othermen or not. That’s how it was I felt at such adisadvantage all the time. Anyway, he wasn’t likeany of my relations, the girls and women thatI knew, nor even like the doctor that attended us,nor the bread baker, nor the butcher, nor any ofthose. But then Everard wasn’t. None of themwere, in fact.”

“What led to your discovery of hispenchant forsecrets?”

“Mariana told me; and when she told me, Ilaughed to myself, it seemed so utterly ridiculous.But afterwards I came to understand it. That is160why he quarrelled with me, and left me a prisonerin the upper storey.”

“In so short a time?”

“Yes. He found I had no secret worthdiscovering.”

“But had you not?”

“No. Sometimes I felt tempted to tell him thereal facts of my last visit to the temple, butsomething always held me back. And after all, if Ihad told him I should have become a prisoner all thesame.”

“Maybe. Then in the end you quarrelled withhim?”

“No, he quarrelled with me. We were getting on,as I considered, very nicely, and suddenly I couldsay nothing that would please him. Afterwards Iunderstood it was because he had grown tired of me,and found me unprofitable, so far as secrets wereconcerned.”

“And so you were consigned to shadows, and asuite of rooms in an upper storey?”

“Yes, and it was terrible. I never wish to gothrough such a time again. It seemed to me eternity.Even now I don’t believe it was a week. It was ayear of weeks.”

“Did Mr. Barringcourt ever ask you any questionsabout the Serpent?”

“Yes; he often asked me questions.”

“And you never told him what you had seenthen?”

“No, I couldn’t, much as I wanted to. When Igot to that part I only stammered, and that used tomake him angry.”

“Then how can you say he discovered you had no161secret worth discovering when you distinctly hadone?”

“He would have simply ridiculed it, and said therewas no truth in it. So what was it worth to him?”

“You used some little reason, then, in the controllingof your tongue?”

“Perhaps it was I, but I gave the credit elsewhere.”

“Now we have to discover the merit that lit thepath for you to here.”

“Will you not put on your glasses? It will behard to find.”

“How long did you say you prayed to the Serpentfor the gift of speech?”

“Over two years; and the prayer was answered ina different way from what I thought.”

“By the way, you spoke a little time ago ofMariana. Who was she?”

“A kind of waiting-maid at Marble House. I donot know what else she could be called, unless asewing-maid. But she was beautiful, and differentaltogether from any sewing-maid that I had everseen. And even in a week I grew to love her, forunderneath a cold and smooth exterior she had thesweetest, kindest disposition of anyone I ever knew.”

“Did she derive much happiness from livingthere?”

“None, except two hours every Wednesday night.And then she played upon a violin. I never heardsuch music, though it was weirdly sad. But Mr.Barringcourt blinded my reason to believe there wasno harmony in what she played.”

“You do not give him an enviable character.”

“That is what I said when Mariana told me ofhim.” And suddenly Rosalie shuddered. “How162can I give him an enviable character when he wascruel, hard as marble, and vindictive. He was bad,really bad, and the worst thing is I knew it all thetime, yet had he been agreeable to me, reallyagreeable, I would have shut my eyes to everything.”

And from a very real feeling of shame, her colourdeepened, for Rosalie was not one of those peoplewho are blind to their own shortcomings andweaknesses.

Then suddenly turning to her host, she said,changing the conversation:

“What must I call you? Everybody has a name,but yours I never heard.”

“Well,” he answered slowly, “I don’t know thatfor the present I have any name worth going by.Some call me the Traveller’s Friend, some thePhysician, some the Task Master. You may callme what you will for the present. Hereafter we mayfind a better name.”

“Well, Mr. Barringcourt was called the Master.Suppose I call you the Governor, without anyabbreviation to a lesser name.”

“Why that?”

“Because Mariana told me I was weak, and weakpeople want someone very strict with them, and Ishould like to have a good understanding, you know,because I’m very ignorant.”

He looked at her.

“Well, you will find me strict enough. And forthe rest, it’s bound to follow.”

Then he got up, and took down a large volumefrom a book-shelf, and seated once more in his chair,with the book on the table, adjusted his glasses, andopening the leaves, turned them slowly, as one163looking through the pages of a dictionary todiscover something.

As last he found the place he needed, and forsome time read in silence; then closed the bookand instantly removed his glasses as he looked acrossat her.

“I’ve been through the list of merits, Rosalie, andhave decided yours is the questionable merit ofclinging on. None others have had much time todevelop yet. They may be there, no doubt, but havenot, as it were, yet come of age.”

“Clinging on! It’s very questionable, isn’t it?”

“Yes; but you’ll have one or two stiff examinationsto pass in it before you’ve finished.”

“But—but the people who cling on are—are soinsufferable.” And it must be acknowledged a veryreal tear of disappointment stood in her eye.

“Would you have liked some higher-soundingvirtue?”

“Yes; I thought you were going to say meeknessand gentleness, or some of the great gifts of thespirit. I never read that ‘clinging on’ was countedmuch in the Book of Divine Inspiration. Besides,who have I been clinging on to? I deserted theSerpent just—”

“Just at the right time. There is where the virtuecomes. Had you been any earlier you would haveshown great fickleness. Besides, after all, I don’tthink you’re very heavy, Rosalie. You would not besuch an insufferable load to drag along.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But anyway, I’ll trust toyou.”

“Well now, whilst you stay with me there is muchwork to be done. But for to-day, until you become164accustomed to your new surroundings, you may takeholiday. To-morrow morning be up as early asto-day. After breakfast I will show you in whatdirection your work will lie.”

After that she went away, and saw no more of himall day. It was an ideal holiday in the sun andwarmth and beauty of the outdoor life. And for thenoontide meal, Billy came and sat with her, thoughhe only drank one glass of water whilst she ate.

“Are you not hungry?” she asked.

“Well, yes. I’m getting hungry, but it isn’t mymeal-time yet. You’d be astonished if you saw theamount I eat compared with you,” and he laughed inthe gayest, happiest tone. After a while he said:“Have you made friends with the frog yet?”

“With whom?”

“The frog. My father’s pet frog. It is in thegarden, but is rather shy of strangers, but verytalkative when once you get to know it.”

“A frog? And it can talk?”

“You bet! It has a better fund of words andstyle of oratory than many a statesman.”

“Well, then, it should be a human being.”

Billy looked at her, and his brilliant sparkling eyeswere laughing.

“Well, no, hardly that. It is quite contented toremain a frog—a very superior kind of frog.”

“Do you come every day for lessons?” askedRosalie, uncertain what to say.

“Three times a week. And the other days I walkover in my spare time.”

“Then you have not far to come?”

“Not far, comparatively speaking. The distancelessens as one grows older, I find.”

165“Then it would be less to me than you?”

Again he laughed.

“Well, no; I expect I’ve had more practice thanyou. Good morning!”

And he was gone, leaving Rosalie to ponder onthat odd kind of powerful beauty in his face, andthat exuberant merriness that made her sigh to losehim. For that was the worst of Billy. He seemedto come and go more like some brilliant spirit, a kindof Mercury, with winged heels, to bring one ray ofsunshine, and then depart.

The next morning after breakfast the Governor ledher down the garden to the gate in the edge of yew.He carried in his hand the basket she had seen theday before, containing seeds. But whereas yesterdaythey had looked green, to-day they had a silvery-whiteappearance, toning to a liquid aspect as ofwater in the centre. Beyond the edge stretched asquare plot of uncultivated land bordered by willowtrees, and at the further side a little hut of wood,just in the shelter of the forest. But here the sundid not shine so brightly. The garden of Pleasurewas left behind. This was the field ofWork.

The Governor led the way across to the hut. Itconsisted of two rooms, a living- and a sleeping-room,and moreover a little cellar, where she discovered allkinds of garden implements and spades, and onelarge fork that looked as if it were for digging heavysoil.

He put the basket down upon the table, and thenhe said:

“This is your little house. These are the seeds tobe sown in the strip of land you see without. Youmust dig and sow, and then wait for the harvest.The books upon the shelves you may study in yourleisure, but you must grasp each subject thoroughlybefore your time of apprenticeship is over.”

167So saying, without any word of advice or cautionhe left the hut and crossed to the gate that led to thegarden. Rosalie was left alone.

But though on one side lay a great and unknownforest, she experienced no fear at being left alone,even though when she looked out she noticed howuncompromisingly high the edge appeared, shuttingher quite away from sight or sound of the prettywayside house.

But just then a voice attracted her attention.

“Well! well!” said it, most harshly, “what’s thefirst thing that a farmer does before he sows hisseed?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered Rosalie; “I’venever lived in the country,” and looked round to findthe speaker.

And there on the doorstep was a frog sitting,looking up at her half contemplatively, half pityingly.Its colours were beautifully striped, green and white.On its head these colours blended brilliantly, takingaway some of the staring effect of the wide-openeyes.

“Don’t know?” it answered. “Well! well!You’ll have to dig. Get a fork and dig. Well!well! best to know nothing than to know toomuch.”

Rosalie went as she was told, and brought the bigfork she had noticed. It certainly was very big, andlooked aggressive.

“Do you mean this?” she asked.

“What else should I mean? Now then, set towork. The quicker you begin, the quicker you’llfinish.”

“But—but what must I do with it?”

168“Grasp it in both hands. Stick it in the ground,and push it in with your foot. Well! well! thesooner you learn, the sooner you’ll know.”

“I won’t!” said Rosalie. “It’s a man’s work;why, it’s digging. I know I was never intendedto do that.”

The frog, by way of showing its disgust, gave acontemptuous croak.

“Man’s work? It isn’t the work most men wouldthank you for giving them. Even as far back as thedays of Divine Inspiration mankind was ashamed ofit. It’s woman’s work! What man won’t do alwaysfalls to the woman.”

“But women never dig in our country,” saidRosalie, still bent on the argument.

“What country’s yours?”

“The biggest in the whole of Lucifram.”

“It would be bigger still if the women appliedthemselves better,” said the frog, and a short silencefollowed.

“Do you really think I ought to do it?” saidRosalie, at last, not being of that stubborn naturethat delights in saying “no” and sticking to it.

“Well, I don’t see what else is to be done,” saidher companion. “If you don’t dig you’ll never sow,and if you don’t sow, you’ll never reap, and if youdon’t reap you’ll never—”

“Never what?”

“Prove you’re anything but a fool.”

“Really?” said Rosalie.

“Really!” said the frog; but the expression ineach voice was different.

So she stuck the fork into the ground, and foundit took a great deal of strength to make any impression169upon the surface. But once having put hershoulder to the plough, as it were, there was nothingfor it but to go on, for the old voice kept ringing“Go on! go on!” and consequently on she went.

The frog, for some considerable period, watchedher from the side, but finally hopped away into thehut. At noonday it appeared again, and summonedher to dinner, which was already prepared in thelittle living-room.

“Who prepared my dinner?” asked Rosalie, aftershe had washed her hands and settled to the meal.

“I did,” it replied. “It’s a woman’s work certainly,but if you waited for a woman to do it for you, you’dcome badly off. No; I’m a frog, but when there’s noone else by I can do other work besides my own.How do you like digging?”

“It makes me very tired, and the inside of myhands are quite sore.”

“Are they? Well, you’ve got to go on again thisafternoon, you know. If you don’t get the seeds inbefore very long they’ll wither.”

She answered nothing, but after the customaryhour of rest returned again to the hard labour.

It was slow work and very hard, and not a soulcame near all the day long. In fact, during theafternoon even the frog seemed to have deserted her,and it was not till the first faint tinge of eveningcrossed the sky that she again heard the familiarvoice calling from the wooden doorstep:

“Time’s up now; tea’s ready.”

Rosalie let the fork drop on the ground, and turnedround as eagerly as her tired body would allow.

Whilst she ate her tea, this new friend sat uponthe hearth.

170“I shall be as stiff as a board to-morrow,” saidRosalie, laying her tired arms upon the arms of thechair.

“No; my master sent down that little bottle onthe mantelpiece for you. You must take it beforeyou go to bed, and you will be all right in themorning—so far as stiffness is concerned, anyway.We don’t go in for torture here, but we believe inhard work—very hard work sometimes.”

When the meal was finished the frog said:

“Now, if you will take this arm-chair by thefireplace, I will remove the table.”

She did so, and was surprised to see that whenthe frog pulled a small knob in the wall the wholetable, which, however, was not large, disappearedthrough an opening partition, and left the roomclear.

“If you want to read or study, you must drawthat writing-desk nearer,” continued her instructor.

“I don’t want to do anything to-night. I’m sotired, I think I’ll go to bed early.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad plan, seeing you haveonly been at work one day, and find it all so strange.You’ll be more accustomed to it to-morrow, and getmore done.”

“Yes,” said Rosalie; “I’m all impatience to befinished. It is such dreary work, and I’m quiteinquisitive about the seeds. I wonder whetherthey’ll grow up roses, or lilies, or nasturtiums, ordahlias, or hyacinths, or chrysanthemums, or what?”

“Don’t you know much about seeds?”

“Nothing. Uncle was very clever that way; butI never cared about seeds—they looked so veryuninteresting; I only cared about the flowers.”

171“If I were you,” said the frog, “I would rub alittle of that liquid out of the bottle on my hands.If they are blistered and sore it will heal them veryquickly. I’ve had sore hands myself, so I cansympathise. And here’s a pair of gloves,” it continued,drawing a pair from behind the coal-scuttle.“I made them this afternoon, instead of coming outto keep you company. I might have made themoutside, but I thought it would be a little surprisefor you.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Rosalie. “How verythoughtful of you! Where did you learn everythingyou know?”

“Well! well!” said the frog, with quite a sorrowfulcroak, “I learnt it in the school where it is mostgenerally taught.”

“Where was that?”

“In the school of experience and adversity, for themost part.”

“Don’t you think that people can be kind unlessthey’ve gone through a great deal of suffering?”asked Rosalie.

“Now and again, just now and again, one findsthem. But they’re few and far between.”

“I think suffering and trouble make people bitter,or else break them up altogether.”

“Not if they’re made of the right stuff,” said thefrog. “It’s the needle’s eye that rich and poor menalike have to pass through. If you can’t standsorrow, you can’t stand happiness, though you maythink you can.”

“But we were made to be happy. The Serpent—Godrather, meant us to be so.”

“God meant us to be happy eventually,” said the172frog gently. “But like all things else worth having,it takes a great deal of fighting for. Contentmentand peace are the nearest approach to it onegenerally gets the other side of heaven.”

“I don’t like the word ‘peace.’ It reminds me ofa fat woman, and a dinner of suet dumplings.”

“You’re prejudiced, or else you’ve mistaken it forlethargy.”

“Well, is not contentment a state of lethargy?”

“No; when you’re most contented, you’re leastso. The two things naturally go together, and keepup a constant flow of action that does away withtorpidness.”

“How long do you think it will be before my workis finished here?”

“I don’t know. It’s rather a foolish question toask. No one knows. It depends upon what timethe seed takes to ripen and the bent of yourmind.”

“And in the evenings must I study?”

“It is your only time. But what you want isplenty of hard work and plenty of deep thought.”

“And that is almost everything,” said Rosalie.

“I believe it is,” answered the frog; and by thesimple process of pulling another knob emptied ashovelful of coal on the fire out of the chimney-side.

It was not long after this when Rosalie preparedfor bed. She rubbed the liquid on her hands, andfound it very soon relieved them. Then she drankthe contents of the bottle and retired to the innerroom, first bidding the frog “Good-night.”

“I sleep on the doorstep,” said it, “so you maysleep doubly secure. Nothing evil can cross me, formy life is charmed.”

173And, somehow or other, there seemed more life,strength, and independence in this small creaturethan there had ever been in Mariana. Poor Mariana!Rosalie fell asleep thinking of her, wondering howshe had taken the news of her escape, and whetherMr. Barringcourt indulged in anything further thana frown when the truth was told to him.

But these thoughts did not keep her long out ofthe land of dreams. Perhaps it was that Rosalie hadenough to do thinking of her own affairs just then.It never struck her that her escape could make anymaterial difference to Mariana. She imagined herliving the same even life, with one real pleasure inthe week in compensation for its darkness, and sawwithin her mind the wedding-dress nearing completion,and trembled in her sleep to think it soonmust be finished and fade again to nothing for wantof one to wear it.

And in the night she dreamt the seeds were sown,the time of harvest came, and every seed appearedas a huge and barren stone. Then in despair anddisappointment she wept upon them, and theydisappeared.

After that, life began in earnest for Rosalie. Forsome weeks her days were given to digging, hernights to mastering the alphabet of some unknownlanguage. It was all dry work, and very hard.

No one came near, except the frog, and she oftenfound herself wishing for more human companionship.But still it was not Rosalie’s nature togrumble too much at circumstances. She contentedherself with an occasional sigh, and for the rest learntto love the harsh, croaking voice that had somethingto say about most things, and was always kindenough to revive her drooping spirits with cheeringwords.

At last the plot of ground was all prepared, andconsidering it had been digged by a woman, it wasnot at all badly done. No one would have knownthe difference if they hadn’t been told, though afterwardsthey might have discovered the depth was notso great. However that may be, the seeds weresown in it, and began doubtless to do their own littlebit of digging, and go down so far that no one couldfind them where they’d first been put. After thesowing came the time of waiting. There was muchweeding, and more watering, for no drop of rainever descended there, and all had to be carried froma stream near by.

175Rosalie watched the ground impatiently to seewhen the first bright blade would appear, but thoughshe waited one month, two, three, four, nothing atall except an occasional weed altered the surface ofthe ground. And her whole heart was buried inthat little garden. It seemed as if it, too, must havetaken root down there, away from the sunshine andthe warmth.

And the waiting was far worse than the working,for after three months certainly something ought tohave shown. But when it went on to four, five, nay,at last came out into six long months, and nothingyet had come to light, Rosalie went back into thelittle hut, and laid her head upon her arms upon thetable, and cried from sheer disappointment and lowspirits. For during this time of waiting and subsequentdoubt no one had come to see her, no one atall, except the frog.

In this fit of depression, which was the first ofits kind, the outcome of disappointment and hopedeferred, the frog spoke.

“What is it, Rosalie? I’ve never seen you crybefore.”

“I can’t stand it any longer, I know I can’t. I’vewaited for six months, with never a soul to speak tobut you, and nothing has come up. It’s all a failure.My heart is as heavy as a stone. If it gets muchworse it will break right in two. I know it will.”

“Where is your heart?”

“It should be in my body, but I believe I musthave sown it along with the seeds in the garden, andit’s turning to stone while they’re rotting.”

Then the frog spoke rather shyly, as one who fearsto be ridiculed, and is slightly apologetic.

176“Perhaps the seeds have turned to—to—to—stone,too,” and it looked hard in the fire instead of atRosalie.

She, however, looked across at it with eyes wideopen.

“Well, really! It doesn’t seem unlikely, consideringthe time they are in coming up.”

“What will you do?” said the frog.

“I’ll begin to dig again,” cried Rosalie.

“It’s the wisest thing you’ve said since you camehere,” the frog answered, and its colours flashed quitebrilliantly.

So the next morning (for it was evening whenthey spoke to one another) Rosalie rose with a muchlighter heart than for some time past, went out intothe garden with the fork, and began to dig. Shedug all day, but found nothing, till just at eventideshe noticed something shining in the dull, damp soil.She picked it out with her fingers very eagerly. Itwas a dull enough looking stone for the most part,with here and there a substance in it that shone likeglass—not very brilliantly. Whatever it was, it wasenough to brighten Rosalie’s spirits for the timebeing, and as just then she heard the frog’s voicecalling her to tea, she made as much haste forwardsas she could over the clodding soil to show hertreasure.

“See what a beautiful thing I have found!” shecried, and held it up triumphantly.

“It isn’t very brilliant,” said the frog, looking at itcritically.

“Don’t you think so?”

“No. You do, because you’ve been looking at blacksoil all the day, but I’ve been looking at the sun.”

177“Well, but then the brightest thing would lookdull if you compared it with the sun. How am I tofind out really what it is?”

“Take it to my master.”

“I can’t open the gate.”

“The gate will open of itself, if you’ve anything totake to him.”

Rosalie turned about to run off at once, but theother said:

“Wait and have tea first. He is never at libertytill six, and now it’s only five.”

So after tea, Rosalie, having previously changedher heavy boots and generally tidied herself, set offin the direction of the house.

The gate this time responded easily enough to herhand, and soon she was walking through the garden,holding her stone the tighter, in that she was quitesure, from the fact of the gate opening so readily, itmust be worth something very considerable.

The door leading into the garden was open, andafter knocking she passed through, and went at onceto the study.

The curious thing about the sun here was that italways set at the same time of day, and that betweenfive and half-past, so that now twilight had fallen,and the lamps were lit, though the blinds remainedundrawn.

The Governor sat as usual, and must have beenexpecting her, for he held out his hand as she entered,saying:

“Well, what have you brought?”

She placed it in the hand he held out, and waitedwhilst he looked at it. This did not take very long,for almost on the instant he looked up, and said:

178“I’ll send it to an expert in the city of Lucifram,and get his opinion on it.”

“You think it is very valuable, then?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, except in a way that doesn’tcount. But we’ll send it to someone who is unacquaintedwith the digging, and watering, and heartburningit has necessitated, and therefore who willbe less prejudiced than I.”

“When will you send it?”

“To-night; and you will hear the decision insomething like a fortnight.”

So then she went away. The next two weekswere passed in waiting, and in the study of thosebooks which Rosalie found more dry and difficulteach succeeding day. For there was no one toexplain them, and in some parts there seemed nothingbut big full-stops and commas, with wide gapsbetween.

But at the end of that time the frog came to herone morning and said the Governor wished to seeher.

Rosalie went in fear and expectation, and the firstthing her eyes lighted on was her stone upon thetable. This, she felt, was not quite as it should be.

“The decision is that it is rubbish.”

That was all the Governor said.

She felt rather miserable. She thought it must bewith hurrying across the garden. However, therewas nothing to be said, and Rosalie withdrew. Afterthat some very hard, frosty weather followed, and theground was so hard that for a long time she was ableto do nothing—outside, at any rate.

Then when it thawed a little she went out anddigged again, and found just such another stone as179the one before, only of a little lighter and brightersubstance.

After tea she took it to the Governor, as last time.He promised to send it to the city, and get theopinion of an expert upon it. Rosalie withdrew towait. At the end of a fortnight she was again sentfor to the Governor’s house. Her stone was on thetable.

“The decision is that it is rubbish,” said he.

And she felt disappointed this time, but not miserable.One is never quite so sure of things after the firsttime—that is, if they’ve miscarried. She went backagain to the plantation and the hut. Again theground had frozen, and for some time it was impossibleto do anything, even had she had the inclination.

After this, every time the thaw came Rosalie setto work again, finding the work a change and relieffrom study. And though the disappointment alwayslasted out the frost, it always disappeared with thethaw. And every time she went up to the house,the particular stone she had last found lay on thetable, and the words were:

“The decision is that it is rubbish.”

This went on for a long while, till at last it seemedto Rosalie all the hope had been crushed out of her,and she went back to the garden and found it quitefrosted over. But after a while the frost broke, andthe frog, seeing Rosalie made no attempt to go todig, said to her:

“The frost has broken.”

“I know.”

“Will you not go out into the garden?”

“No; I’m too impatient. I want the seeds togrow quicker than I can learn. I’ve been thinking180about it all, and I feel that I must wait. Brightstones take longer to grow than flowers, because theyfade less quickly.”

Thereupon the frog let fall a tear of gratitude,but turned the other way during the odd process, sothat Rosalie never noticed it.

Then followed a very long and dreary time, with nocompanionship; nothing but the even days and dullbooks, and the sympathetic frog. And this went onso long that many a time Rosalie went out to look atthe ground, and sighed, but never thought of touchingit, because something had said “Stand still.” Atlast, after a very long time had gone by, she went tobed one night, feeling particularly sad.

Some hours later she awoke to find the moonshining full into the chamber. She got up anddressed, and went through into the outer room. Thedoor was open, and the frog was sitting contemplativelyupon the step, looking out on to the beautiesof the night. Occasionally it gave a croak ofsatisfaction.

Rosalie went to the cellar and brought out thebig fork, and thought she was so quiet the frog hadnever seen her. But then, poor thing, its eyes wereso large, they stared out from every side of its head,and as she approached the door it hopped down, andmoved aside to let her pass.

“Why don’t you ask me what I’m going to do?”she said, laughing.

“That’s plain to be seen,” it answered, and hoppedafter her in the moonlight.

Suddenly Rosalie began to dig, just on thatportion of ground where a shaft of moonlighthad fallen. For some time nothing but loose soil181came up, but at last the fork hit upon somethinghard. It did not move till a space had been clearedall round it, and then it appeared nothing but aheavy hard mass of black earth, with an irregularsurface.

“Well?” said the frog.

“There are other tools in the cellar beside a fork,”said she. “But we’ve done enough for one night. Itcan stay now till the morning,” and she took it inboth hands, and lifted it out of the deep trench dugabout it.

So then once more night reigned undisturbed.But with the morning work began again, this timewith finer instruments to chip away the thick layersof soil and find what lay beneath. It took a verylong time, much longer than Rosalie ever anticipated,though in other ways the hours passed quickly underthis keen absorption. In many places the soil seemedmore like marble than rock, and required muchpatience to remove it, for none of the instrumentswere particularly sharp, nor specially adapted forthat purpose. But what of that? Working, working,ever unceasingly, on went Rosalie, and oneday she looked up at the frog, and half laughed,and said:

“I believe my heart is inside here, and I’ll neverbe happy till it’s free, quite free.”

But the frog only turned away and sighed, andRosalie was so intent that she never heard the sigh.

And at last!

Bit by bit a brilliant jewel unfolded itself, allflashing green-and-moonlight colour, and with onegleam of ruby red, just one bright gleam upon themiddle surface.

182And she pressed it to her lips and kissed it. Thiswas no dull stone with intermittent flashes of light.No, this wasreal—a lovely thing of sparkling colour.

It was finished just at sunset. She scarcely neededany tea, so eager and impatient was she to get away.

And then she appeared before the Governor withthis precious prize.

“I’ve found something really, at last,” said she,with bright eyes and cheeks.

As of old he held his hand out for it, but saidnothing.

“Why don’t you speak?” she asked.

“It is not for me to speak,” he answered; and soshe went away.

But Rosalie was scarce content with waiting now.She doubted not that all would see the value of thestone she had so lately found, and most of all anexpert. And indeed there seemed to be no timefor waiting. The voice said, “Go on.” Truly theharvest was beginning. Who would sit down withbut one sheaf tied?

And she was justified in doing so. Another lumpof hard black earth (to be chipped away slowly andsurely) appeared amongst the looser soil. And aftera time the under surface partly appeared, and it, too,as far as she could see, was bright and brilliant.

But as this was in process the message arrived atbreakfast, the Governor wished to see her.

She did not allow herself to think, because shedare not, but whatever thought rose in her mind itwas success.

She knocked at the study door and entered. There,in the same place that all the others had been in turn,lay the shining jewel, and the cold voice answered:

183“The decision is that it is rubbish.”

The pain within was so great that Rosalie couldhave screamed, and then came sickness and faintness,so that she leant against the door and looked athim.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“It is accounted of no worth.”

“Oh, but it is! it is!” she cried, and looked at himso hard that he looked back at her.

“I have told you the decision.”

“But what doyou say?”

“I say nothing.”

“But what is wrong with it?”

“I believe the decision was that it was gaudy. Itshone too much.”

She looked at him dully, and then turned and wentaway.

There in the plantation was the work she wasengaged on. Her eyes were too dull to see the sparkleof light, her heart too black to care. And suddenlyshe laughed, and picking up the fork lying near,began to dig again. The frog sat by and watched.

In furious haste, without apparent thought, sheworked, and at last came upon a much smaller mound,containing one much smaller stone of transparentsubstance that had no lustre at all. But bitter tearswere running fast from her swollen eyes, and two ofthem flashed on it. When she tried to rub them offupon her sleeve they seemed quite hardened, andthey never moved.

“Is this gaudy?” she asked, turning suddenly toher companion.

“I don’t think so,” it answered meekly. And thenshe sighed.

184“It seems to me it’s hardly bright enough, exceptthe tears.”

And in the evening she went with it again to theGovernor.

After that the time was very short till she wasagain summoned to the house.

And there the lesser jewel lay, just as she hadbrought it, and the decision was once more that thiswas rubbish also.

Then she turned to him, and cried bitterly:

“You gave me the seeds—what is wrong withthem? I cannot alter them from what they are.”

“Perhaps it would be best if now you left thegarden,” he answered slowly, “seeing it is soprofitless.”

But she looked at him with straining eyes, andanswered:

“I can’t. It’s the work I have been put to do, andI must finish it. I told the frog I thought my heartwas in that first hard mound, and I believe it is.But there’s something else beside my heart, andthat’s there too, and I’ll never be free till it is free.And what can I do? I am mad. I see thingsbeautiful that others only stare at, and then pass bywith scarcely one comment. And the old cruelvoice keeps crying, ‘Go on! go on!’ and whithercan I go? The path is all so black that, forward orbackward, I am lost whichever way I turn.”

Then because he did not answer, she said at last:

“Send it, the first I brought to you, that brilliantmoonstone, to some other place. The man whocalled it rubbish can’t have any eyes.”

“Just as you like,” he answered.

Then she went away.

185In the plantation there had set so hard a frostthat everything was white and stiff and ice-bound.There lay the half-chipped mound containing theother jewel scarce yet visible. But Rosalie had noheart to touch it, even had the frost allowed her.

And no result came from sending the moonstoneto another place. One general and unanimousopinion: it had no value—that was all. And stillfor months the blighting frost lay dead on everything.

In vain, with burning fever under the outward chillthat froze her too, did Rosalie take the fork and trywith what little strength was in her arms to breakthe iron earth. Nothing moved. It only made herrecognise the more the great impossibility, thestrength of life imprisoned by the frozen hands ofdeath.

At last (for now the gate within the edge wasnever fast) she went again to the Governor.

“What am I to do?” she asked. “I can’t get onwith anything, nor move either way. I’ve prayed toGod a thousand times to give me peace or break theice, or let me get the price of freedom from thatjewel which I brought to you, and nothing everanswers, except in contradiction. I prayed onenight the thaw might come—a hundred times andmore I prayed it. In the morning a double frosthad settled, petrifying hard as iron. Another nightI prayed for peace and rest. I could not stand soterrible a strain. I never dreamt as that night.Ten times I dozed and woke again, covered withsweat, all shivering in the cold, to think myself alivewithin a coffin, buried within the ground. And mostincessantly that other prayer to reap the price offreedom with the stone, and as you know, it lies186here in your keeping—a useless thing, and judgeddevoid of worth.”

“You say your heart is in the stone,” heanswered.

“Yes; I think it sends out shafts of brilliancy topierce to that dull, empty place, and prick it intofearful pain. What can I do? I’ve prayed to God—whatmore can I do?”

“There is one thing more. You’d better give itup.”

“Oh! but that is everything—the whole of thelittle garden. For the frost will never break till thestone is free, and I.”

“You can give the garden back to God who gaveit.”

“But why give me a thing and take it back justwhen it’s fit for using?” and then a great painand fear came into her eyes. “I would do asyou tell me, I would really, but I haven’t thestrength, and I’m afraid. The frost is too strongfor me. It freezes my heart, and leaves my mindquite free, so that the blood courses through mybrain in quickest time, and then stops suddenly.It’s worse than killing me. I’m going mad, andwhat use am I to God, or how can I see the lightof heaven, if once that heavy cloud descends, andcoupled with the frost, freezes upon my eyes andlips, and eats out everything?”

“To trust in God is to be sane—have peace,” heanswered.

“Ah, peace!” she answered greedily. “Whatdoes it mean? I know no peace—nothing but themocking, cruel voice that says ‘Go on!’ and showsno way.”

187“It’s the stone, Rosalie, that stands in your light,and blocks the way. Can’t you see it?”

“I expect I’m very blind. I’m not clever enoughto understand. I haven’t spirit enough to find a wayout. Mr. Barringcourt told me so, and he knew best.I was handicapped from the beginning to be bornwithout a tongue.”

“But that difficulty, and still another, has beensurmounted.”

“Yes, but I did nothing myself.”

“Fiddlesticks!” said the Governor, and he spokeso naturally that Rosalie laughed, even though notparticularly brightly.

“Well, I didn’t do much myself. I don’t see howI could.”

“You did as much as was necessary, which isnever in any case very much; and now there is onelittle thing more to be done—give it up.”

“I dare not,” she said; “it would send me mad.If it would kill me I wouldn’t mind.” And shelooked down to hide the light in her eyes.

“Give it up to God. Do you trust God and thinkHe will forsake you?”

“No; it’s myself I am not sure of.”

“You should be part of God.”

“Not here.”

“Where else, then?”

“In heaven.”

“It begins on earth for those of sufficient intelligence;and for the others, they do not count.”

“I’m one of the last, then. It is so hard, so very,very hard, and I have no strength at all.”

Then a very long silence followed—the terriblefight between weakness and trust, between blind188ignorance and all-conquering wisdom, the spirit’shumble discipline; and at last she turned to him,and said:

“I’ll give it up! And if I sacrifice my heart orhead, it’s all the same, seeing God is the receiver,and He knows best.”

And then she turned away, with the knowledge ofhaving done some duty that now seemed extremelysimple.

But the Governor rose from his chair, and cametowards her, and took her in his arms, and kissed hercheek, and the caressing action reminded her somehowof that time long ago, when Mr. Barringcourtlaid his hand upon her shoulder in the temple.

Bur that kiss seemed to revive her strength, andgive some of that peace she had so lately cravedfor.

Yet this reward was so very unexpected. It neveroccurred to her that the Governor could possibly carewhether she walked right or wrong, except, perhaps,as a spectator. But the magnetic sympathy of thatkiss, and the great, but gentle, strength in his armsas he drew her to him, awoke her eyes to the factthat here was her friend, the only one she had everknown, maybe would ever meet.

But being too full of feeling for words she slippedquietly towards the door, and crossed the lawntowards the hut.

That was her little home, to be filled withcontentment and happiness, in which it would beher task to dig graves for bitterness, repining, andwild craving and longing for that which was notto be. It would be a hard task. Rosalie recognisedit as she looked at the frozen mounds of soil, whose189digging had occasioned so much eagerness andanticipation.

And in her mind she looked below the frozensurface of the plantation to where other jewels alllay buried, and she had given them up to God, andthey must lie there.

But the kiss and the strength of those strong armshad worked a miracle for her. She no longer feltthe weak restlessness and alternate blackness ofdespair and madness. She went into the littlehut bravely, with tears trembling on her eyelids,partly the outcome of the struggle she had gonethrough, and partly of a vague sense of happinessand satisfaction that was beginning to glow within,like some glowing light of summer. Later she saidto her companion:

“There was a man who healed my tongue for me,healed it with light, and now I think my heart isbeing healed, and it is still Light, Light, Light, onthe poisonous darkness.”

“Then you have given up the moonstone. It wasa dangerous stone. I like the little tear-stained onethe best.”

“And I love it too,” said Rosalie. “It gave mework to do at the time I most needed it, and set mymind on the road it has travelled ever since.”

Then she took down the lesson-books, and foundto-night they were much more understandable, andit was with growing lightness of spirit that she sleptthat evening.

The next morning sunshine and warmth had come,the frost risen and fled. The birds were singingin the forest, and the melting icicles had none ofthe dispiriting effect of thaw, but sparkled in thesunshine. The ground was free.

Rosalie went out and took the fork and began theold process—digging. It took a long, long time,days, and weeks, and months, to chip away the soilfrom the new mound.

And at last the first bright ray—uncheckered—burstthrough. Rosalie started up with a cry. Thefrog hopped up to witness. Both of them shed atear of joy and admiration that glistened like a pearl,though dull beside this other. At last a gem ofpurest brightness was displayed, that shone with sosoft a radiance, yet so pure and bright, that it lit upthe garden like the bright sun on an early summer’smorning, and seemed a dazzling emblem of light.

And Rosalie said: “This is the light which curesas well as beautifies—the talisman against all ills—thegift of God, the pearl above all price; never pearlshone like to it, or diamond, or ruby, or any stonedug from the mines or caves. I’ll take it to theGovernor. None can fail but to acknowledge itsbeauty, if but for the one central spark from theraised inner surface.”

191And she took it to him, but as she offered it, saidnothing, and he showed no surprise, but smiledgravely, as one who might approve in silence, butsaid no words.

So Rosalie waited, and in a shorter time than shehad ever stayed before, less than a week, was sentfor by the Governor.

The flashing jewel was on the table by his side.He looked across at her, but her eyes were fixedupon the stone. So soon, and it was back! Andthe time it had taken to dig! and the long monthsof blackness before! And at last her eyes travelledslowly from it back to his face.

And he said with curious intonation: “Thedecision is the same as hitherto.”

“But God’s decision! Tell me that!” and thepain in her voice was very terrible.

“The decision of God is that it is as He has madeit.”

“That is sufficient. Thank you,” and she movedaway; strong only in the friendship of that silentman, who in so few words conveyed so much ofmeaning.

So once more she made her way to the little hut,where the frog as usual sat waiting; but her lips wereset in a smile so stony, that she said never a word,but sat down in her chair by the fire, and forgot totry to form even a syllable.

At last her eyes lighted on the frog sitting thereupon the hearth. Its big, wide, mournful mouthdrooped at the corners, and its round saucer eyeswere brimming with tears, yet there was somethingvery comic in its attitude—so much so that Rosalielaughed. At this it jumped so literally that had it192not borne a charmed life it would certainly havesettled in the fire, but as it was, it came down insidethe fender, and then hopped out.

“Ah! when you laugh in sorrow your heart mustneeds be broken altogether,” it said.

“Oh, no! I feel nothing, nothing at all, one way orthe other, only hard and empty, and sorry, not formyself, but for others, that they should be so blind.”

“It’s well you feel hard. It doesn’t do to feel softat times like this,” said the frog, and tried to speakcheerfully, but somehow failed.

Outside a white mist was settling, so silently thatthey never noticed it. But just then the frog piledmore coal on the fire, and soon the room looked verycheerful.

“Come and sit on my knee,” said Rosalie presently;and she almost laughed again at the rapidity withwhich her request was granted.

Although they had lived together so long, this was,as it were, the first time she had seen the frog close.

She took one of its little feet in her fingers, andnoticed it was pierced with a hole. Then in turn shelooked at each foot separately, and found the samemark in each.

“How did you come by these? They look as ifthey must have been very painful at one time.”

“It was very stupid of me,” said the frog shyly.“Generally I put a jewel into each, and everyoneremarks about my pretty feet, but to-day, withthinking about your affairs, I forgot. It was mostnegligent of me.”

“Where did you get the jewels from?”

“My master said I found them by myself, but Ithink he really gave them to me.”

193“But tell me about these holes, unless you’d rathernot.”

“It’s a short and very common story,” it answeredevasively; “I don’t think it would interest you.”

“Indeed it would; you have been so kind to meall along that I know you won’t deny me this.”

“Well, there was a time when I used to be a veryordinary little frog, jumping about, and eating allthat I could get. And I was very vain of myappearance, for I knew that my coat was brighterthan any of my neighbours, and I wished them toknow it too. But I wasn’t content with beingadmired by my own kith and kin; I thought Ishould like to gain the admiration of mankind aswell. Instead of confining myself to the shrubsand well in the garden, I contrived to make myselfplainly seen by hopping about the paths. Therewere no children in the house adjoining, so that Ifelt doubly safe, for the two servant maids used towalk in the garden often at dusk, and talk abouttheir sweethearts, and at these times they alwaysfound a kind and flattering word for me. Meetingwith such kind treatment from them, I grew doublyproud, and formed the erroneous idea that allmankind was equally kind and simple. I made nodoubt that had I been taken before the Queen,my manners, colour, and deportment would haveastonished her, and called forth her admiration.As discontentment had first grown toward my ownpeople, so at last it grew towards the maid-servants.I wanted more than two admirers, and almost lostmy brilliant colour pining for them. About thistime, however, my old mother died, and what withthe nursing of her, and seeing to her respectable194removal afterwards, I had little time for thinking ofmyself. But when things had settled themselvesagain, my old longing revived. I must go outalong the paths again and try to gain moreadmiration.

“Now, there lived in that house a man. He alwayswore spectacles, and whenever he walked in thegarden always carried a book, and from what Icould gather from the maids’ conversation, was reallyvery clever. Now, being myself very ignorant, Inaturally admired clever people, and a great longinggrew in my mind to gain his approbation andattention. So whenever he walked out in thegarden, I watched my opportunity, and hoppedalong the path beside him. But for a long timehe either never noticed me, or if he did do so, wasnever attracted by my charms. This upset me somuch that my health became visibly enfeebled. Ifelt that if he could but see it, I might become ofvalue in his eyes, and thus raise myself in his goodgraces and esteem. Still, I felt I could not give in,for I had a friend of somewhat duller coat alwayswatching me, ready to say upon the first occasion:‘I told you so.’ So I continued hopping by his sidein these walks, which, of late, had become habitual.But one day, as he came down the path, he closedhis book, and his eyes suddenly lighted on me. Iknow not what the expression in them was, but myvanity took it favourably. I sat there as still as afrog can sit, because I had heard it was a sign ofgood breeding to sit still, and pretended to be gazingat the sun, because I thought it would appear goodtaste to admire a thing so generally esteemed. Andhe stood still too, but I was quite content thathe195should be admiringme. It would have disappointedme had he turned his attention likewise to the sun.Suddenly he stooped down, and made a grab in mydirection. I had almost waited for this, and beingprepared, hopped quickly to one side. I felt it wouldnot enhance my charms to be caught too quickly.He made no further attempt to catch me, but wentback into the house, and I heard my friend of theduller coat laughing, as much as to say, ‘I told youso.’ But I pretended to consider we had made greatadvances. In a little while, however, he came outagain. He carried in his hand a curious string thing,which is called a net, and this he laid with greatingenuity across the path where he and I hadpreviously been walking. This I took as a greatcompliment; the ground was evidently not goodenough for me to walk upon. Over this he spreada few crumbs. They were not, certainly, to mymind, as I liked more tasty things, but I thought hehad probably noticed my fragile appearance, andwas showing his sympathy with my delicacy. Soto show my trust in and appreciation of him, aftera little coquettish skipping on the edge, I hoppedstraight to the centre of the net. He was kneelingby the side, and I must admit my heart beat loudlyat my own boldness, but still remembering the kindnessof the maids, the only human beings that Iknew, I felt no particular or definite fear. In fact, Ifelt like some great queen before a kneeling courtier.But the next moment I was much upset to find thenet swung over me, and both of us caught roughlyand inelegantly from the ground, in a manner I hadnever before experienced. I struggled, but onlysucceeded in getting one leg through the net. My196position was indeed perilous. The last thing I heardin the garden was the laughter of my friend who hadthe duller coat. So can the frog heart be uponoccasion very hard.

“I was thrown down afterwards upon a table thathad neither moss nor anything else upon it, stillenveloped in the hateful net, so that there was nochance of me getting away, and there I stayed for along time, choking with fear and partial suffocation.”

A tremor ran through its little body.

“I shouldn’t like to speak of all that followed. Asfrogs go, and being cold-blooded, I can stand a fairamount. But that was neither here nor there. Idon’t know how long I lived there, but it was a longtime, and almost every day I was put to some tortureor other. Often others used to come in to see howthe different inflictions affected me, and once someoneremonstrated with him, and said I must suffer; but hesaid he was always very careful with me, and theother one seemed satisfied.

“‘Besides,’ he added, ‘it is in the cause of science.And what little inconveniences may be suffered by thisreptile may be the means of saving many lives.’

“That night as I was lying in my prison, withevery limb aching and swollen, and big pains shootingthrough my body, I thought on his words. It wasonly the extreme pain that kept me from growingproud, so instead I felt a little thankful.

“But after that the times of torture were growingmore frequent, or I less able to bear them, and Ilonged and prayed to something I couldn’t understandto set me free. And one day, as he took meout of my cell, he said to someone who was withhim at the time—I think he called him his assistant:197‘This thing is on its last legs; I’ll just try one moreexperiment with it, and then it can be thrown to themidden.’

“That was a little comfort to me.

“But just then he ran something through my handthat made me struggle and gasp with pain, and thenthe other three, and I was lying fast nailed to a board,and could not even struggle. I’ll never forget it,though the worst never comes back to me. It wasthe last time, the last time with a vengeance, and thereI died. And I think I must have looked very queerat the last, for the last thing I was conscious of wasthat someone laughed. But how could one composeone’s features nailed to a board, and suffering agony.And when I woke up I was in this pretty garden, andI was as feeble as a baby. But my master tended mewith his own hands, and before long I had grownstrong and happy again, and less wishful to been seen.And though my coat is brighter now than ever it hadbeen, I think less of it and more of other things. Buteven now it’s sweet to hear a little praise, and neveranyone has come to see my master but they have apleasant word for me.”

“Then why do you stay with me? You should behopping in the garden, not in this dull place.”

“Oh, I asked to come. I knew you’d have a dealof sorrow once you came here; it’s meant to be a placeof sorrow; and I remembered that period of my ownlife when I was all alone without companions. And Ithink if someone could have come to me and said,‘Cheer up, Croaker, it’ll soon all be over,’ I wouldhave felt a trifle stronger for the end.”

“Was your name Croaker?” asked Rosalie gently,for the story had much affected her.

198“Yes; I used always to be longing to be called‘Bright Coat’ or ‘Slim Body,’ or one of those nameswhen I was young, but my parents had differentthoughts from me, and gave me just a family name.The scientists sometimes called me ‘Goggle Eyes,’and I believe my eyes did grow unnaturally bigwhilst I was there.”

“It’s very kind of you to stay with me when I’mso dull.”

“You’re not dull,” said the frog. “No one is,unless they do nothing but nurse their sorrow, andexpect other people to carry both them and it.”

Rosalie laughed.

“Yes, one has a great deal to learn,” she answered,and took down a book from the shelf.

And hereafter most of her time was given tolearning, for the lesson-books had suddenly developedinto coherent reading. They were still hard anddull, and many a time she would have given up butfor the ever-ringing voice that revived her laggingspirits, and above all the remembrance of that jewelof pure light, the like that she had seen within thetemple.

Outside the mist still continued heavy and white,so that it was impossible to find the way about. Ithung like a heavy curtain. This continued for along time, until one day it gradually lightened, andin a week’s time the sky was clear again.

“I’m going to dig again,” said Rosalie to the frog,laughing. “I feel I am intended to. The ground issoft, and though my eagerness has gone, I still canwork when there is opportunity.”

And so in the same way she unbedded anotherstone, and though it was smaller than the last, and199not of the same worth by any means, it had itsmerits, and one pure flash in the centre to show itwas related to the larger one. Having given it intothe Governor’s hands, she returned to her owndwelling, and waited some short time.

But one day as she was going round the plantation,holding a book and reading, with the frog hoppingby her side, she was startled to hear someone callingover the gateway, “Good morning, Rosalie!” andlooking, she beheld Billy standing there, his armsfolded over it, and his face all laughing, as was usualwhen he came.

“Good morning!” said she, and her eyes brightenedat such a change in the day’s programme.

“I’ve brought you bad news.”

“Ah! then don’t repeat it. I know already whatit is,” and Rosalie sighed.

“You know, I don’t think you’re ever going to getout of this little paddock,” said he.

“I don’t think so myself. Soon I shall be gettingpast breaking in.”

“How do you like digging?”

“Oh, I’ve taken to it fairly well, thanks to mylittle friend Croaker here. I regard myself as aworm, and feel lowly contentment. Many a time Ihave thought myself dead and the sun set.”

“You must be very wretched to wish yourselfdead.”

“Yes, the day is intensely long.”

“The worm will develop.”

“With a bruised head?”

“It’s imagination! A second miracle, and theworm becomes a serpent.”

“I would much rather remain as I am. The worm200is harmless—the serpent dangerous; the one a littleuse—the other useless.”

“And you from Lucifram!”

“Ah! your mind was fixed on one particularSerpent. Defend me from it.”

“You don’t look much older, Rosalie, for all yourwork.”

“But you were tall before, and now you’re taller.You actually seem older than I, and when first I sawyou I reckoned you quite ten years younger.”

“Well, you’ve been burrowing in the ground. I’vebeen advancing. It makes all the difference. Whateffect has my news had upon you?” he continued.

“Oh! for a change it has made me angry.”

“Has the worm turned?”

“I believe it has been so long in a state ofconstant wriggle that one turn more or less makeslittle difference.”

“Suppose you leave your unprofitable trade, andcome away?”

She took two steps forward with a thankful heart,and then a great stubbornness rose within her. Sheshook her head.

“I won’t go yet,” she said. “It would be givingup too early. I have pleased God, and by God’sgrace I’ll please man, and if man is not to bepleased by God’s grace, what is it that can pleasehim?”

“That is a question for my father. I shouldnot like to say. What do you intend to do herenow?”

“Dig again. Begin to-day. There is no frost,and the ground is soft and loose.”

“Is that the message I’m to return?”

201“I can think of no other. It was good of you tobring the news to me.”

“I thought it very ill. I never delivered anunpleasant message in my life before, and did itjust for practice. I had much rather have told youthe other thing.”

“Your face was very expressive of sorrow whenyou came to me.”

“I’m glad. I imagined my countenance was toosmiling.”

She laughed.

“Never look sad on my account. I have no wishto forfeit your company for a sad mask. Indeed, Icounted it a very great kindness your coming to meat all.”

“Truly, Rosalie, you are improving. I thinkyou must be growing older.”

“I’ve forgotten my age. It’s a thing women neverremember. Years were a form of imaginativepunishment invented by the devil. Some folksare sensitive about them.”

“When you have finished this, will you bring itto my father?”

“Most certainly; who else could I take it to?”

“He has brought you little luck.”

“It’s a word I should never use in connection withhim.”

“Well, I will leave you, and may you beprosperous. I don’t know what else I can say,except that you will forgive me for the news Ibrought.”

So saying, he turned about, and went away again.

And the old work began once more.

One day, when Rosalie had about completed thestone she was engaged upon, the Governor sent forher, by the frog.

“And I think,” said Brightcoat, for Rosalie hadchanged its name, not liking Croaker, “that it wouldnot be at all a bad plan for us to look and see if thereare any new clothes anywhere about. This old dressyou are wearing is most worn and shabby.”

“There are none,” said she. “I have looked manya time, and have never found anything except thecoarse brown apron I wear to protect my dress fromthe soil.”

“Well, there’s a time, and not a time, for lookingfor things. Suppose we look in the little wardrobetogether now. If you stay dinner with the Governor,you must be fairly suitably dressed for it.”

And what was Rosalie’s surprise, on looking in thediminutive dress-closet, to find a pretty dress of softestsilk, white and apple green, just ready made to fither figure, and everything besides to match, even tosilken stockings and pretty slippers, and a cluster ofred and golden leaves upon the dressing-table, assimple and pretty as the rest.

Rosalie, from feeling old as the hills, suddenly feltyoung as a blue-bell blowing on an early summermorning.

203“Oh, Brightcoat! I never felt so happy in mylife. To get rid of this old black and red thing!Why, that in itself is Paradise. But to wear these!It’s past belief. Now, if you were me, how wouldyou wear your hair—high or low? Which do youthink suits me?”

“I say in that loose bundle at the back you usedto wear when you first came to us.”

“The way Mariana did it.”

“Was it?”

“Yes. Oh, dear, dear! I’m afraid I shan’t do it abit nicely. When you try to do your hair nicely italways looks hideous; have you ever noticed that?”

“No; you see I haven’t got any.”

“Of course not! My dress is almost the exactcolours of your skin. Have you noticed it?”

“Yes. My master said the colours were chosenout of compliment to me.”

“How delightful! Frog green! It’s quite aninnovation in fashions, and a very pretty one.”

Brightcoat’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at thislittle bit of innocent flattery, and if it showed vanity,vanity of a sort is a very delightful thing.

So Rosalie dressed with fluttering happiness andeager haste.

“Your hair doesn’t look a bit as if you’d takenpains with it,” said the frog from the bed, where itwas sitting.

“What do you mean?” she asked, with suddenalarm.

“It’s very becoming.”

“I’d rather your flattery was a little less open. Iknow you mean well, but it’s embarrassing to haveone’s defects spoken of so charmingly.”

204By this time the dressing was completed, and inthe eyes of her simple companion no one had everlooked more lovely.

“You must come too, Brightcoat. I shouldn’tthink of leaving you here alone. Besides, you arealways welcome at the house, and I am only thereon suffrage. If I behave badly I must go. It’s avery terrible thing that, when you think about it.Enough to make me tremble and shake all over.”

So the frog jumped lightly from the bed on to hershoulder, and made a most delightful ornament.

As they walked across the garden to the house thenightingales were singing in the soft still air of night.

The Governor, who was walking on the terrace,greeted his guests, and they passed into the house,which was all brilliantly lit to receive them.

“This is your last night with us, so I have askedyou here to dine with me,” said the old man.

“My last night?” Her voice was full of wonderand sadness.

“You surely will not be sorry to leave the soil?”

“Ah! but you and Brightcoat are here. I wouldmuch rather stay. Besides, my heart is in the gardenyet, and here with the jewels that I brought to you.Oh, you have been my friend; and there is noneother. Where else can I go? Let me still live inthe little hut, with the freedom I have boughtto-night.”

But he shook his head and smiled as they sat downto dinner just alone.

“You imagine you have become attached to thehut. But there are other and better places, believeme.”

“And does the way back lead as I came?”

205“Pretty much so, I believe.”

“Into Marble House, with its shadows and cobwebs.I’m sure I daren’t go.”

“Perhaps it has become less shadowy since youwere there. There is spring cleaning, you know, inall well-regulated houses.”

“But it is not well regulated. There is one partall moths and mildew, and people live in it, or ratherwork there. I know, for Mariana does. How I shouldlove to see her once again! And upstairs it iswretchedly lit. In fact, Mr. Barringcourt’s privateroom was the only human-looking place I ever sawthere. But perhaps by now he has a wife. But she’llneed great strength of mind to get the necessaryrepairs done, I’m thinking. He seemed as if hewould be very conservative, except where thingsaffected his own comfort.”

“I don’t think he’s got a wife yet,” said theGovernor.

When they had finished the meal, and the frog hadhad its full share of the dainties that were to its taste,the Governor led the way to his own room, andplacing a chair for Rosalie near the fire, he drew hisown to the other side of the fireplace and sat down.

“Do you object to smoke?” he asked.

“Oh, no! Uncle had a pipe that he had smokedfor years and years and years. And the night beforehe died he let it fall, and it broke. I remember howsad he looked at the time—and perhaps there wasmore in it than just the breaking of the pipe, for hesaid nothing, but that he could soon get a new one.And if all things had been right I think it wouldhave angered him.”

“You were greatly attached to your uncle?”

206“Oh, yes! I loved them both. No one could havebeen kinder to me than they.”

“And now, when you go back to Lucifram, youhave neither friend nor relation to go to.”

“No. Must I indeed go?”

“I see no other way for it. But there are somefriends of mine live there, or friends of someonethat I know. They will fill, to the best of theirability, the old place.”

“How do you know? They might take theutterest distaste to me on first sight, and then whatwould happen?”

“They are not people of prejudice.”

“I wish I were not.”

“You fear, then, you may take a dislike tothem?”

“Oh, no! I’m always trying to get the better ofmy feelings, because they are so often wrong.”

“Well,” said he, “second thoughts are best. Igive you the benefit of a second opinion upon mostthings.”

“But there is where I fear to go back to Lucifram.It’s a place where one is so terribly misjudged, andit’s a place, too, where you have just the knack ofsaying the things you wished unsaid.”

“Well, then, choose. Will you go back, or willyou stay?”

But Rosalie, on second thoughts, made answer:

“You know best, and it is for you to choose.Somehow, I could not think to doubt or questionwhat you say; and after all, why should one botherabout to-morrow, if one does one’s duty to-day.”

“And I have promised you friends in the place ofyour aunt and uncle.”

207“Yes; but I thought Mr. Barringcourt might havea word to say about that.”

“Well, we’re all bound to trust the future to acertain extent. There is no telling; on secondacquaintance he might prove kinder.”

“When must I go?”

“To-morrow, in the early morning. The journeytakes a day; it will be dark before you reach yourjourney’s end, for autumn is far advanced withthem.”

Here the frog, who had so far sat quiet on thehearthrug, put in a word.

“It will be very lonely going back to Luciframalone. My advice and companionship might be ofsome little help occasionally.”

“Oh, yes!” cried Rosalie eagerly. “You have beensuch a faithful and loving friend to me, that yourbrightness would dispel half the gloom, I’m sure itwould.”

Both of them turned their eyes toward theGovernor to gain his opinion.

“You bear a charmed life, little frog,” said he, “soI don’t see what harm or inconvenience can happento you. In fact, I think the outing would be apleasant trip for you, and add something to yourstore of knowledge.”

“You don’t think,” said Rosalie anxiously, forsecond thoughts were beginning to intrude themselves,“that any harm could come of it. I rememberMr. Barringcourt saying something about vivisectiononce. It would be terrible if anything happened,and I was powerless to prevent it.”

“I don’t think anything could happen,” repliedthe Governor. “A frog that has once jumped208from Lucifram successfully to heaven could, ona pinch, repeat the process with much lessinconvenience.”

And soon after this the interview and eveningended.

The two wanderers were standing once more in thecold, inhospitable streets of Lucifram. But they werenot alone. A tall lady descending from her carriagehad noticed the forlorn Rosalie, and pitying her tiredcondition had taken her within her house, promisingher one night’s shelter at least. It may be simplystated to whom Rosalie in this hour of need had come.In this particular house in Lime Tree Square of thechief city of Lucifram there lived a very great painterand his sister. In his early youth he had had a hardstruggle, not so much because he was poor, butbecause he was original. Now, for a man to have hisown ideas in the city of Lucifram was to set all thedogs barking, the mob stone-flinging, and the RiotAct fluttering.

It was very strange, but thousands of years ofexperience had taught little or nothing.

The painter, as has been said, had his own ideas,and so at first they said he was an upstart, and veryjustly laughed at him. But laughter never yet curedmadness or stamped out the truth, and as the painterseemed to be giving surreptitious invisible spiritualbites all round him, and setting the infection flying, itwas recognised at last there must be some truth in hismadness, and to a certain extent they let him be.

210And so from being badly abused the painter at lastsprung into fame. He was a shy and reserved man,and somewhat irritable in his temper. But that wasbecause his temperament and his work were of akind that wear the nerves unevenly. But still whenhe liked he could be very charming, even Luciframadmitted that, and for the hidden virtues, they leftthose with a shrug to God the Serpent.

And so in comparative early middle age he foundhimself the recipient of a knighthood; that is, hereceived a title very similar to “Sir”—and forsimplicity we will call it such. Some spiteful peoplesaid this was on account of his good looks, but asit was a man sovereign who gave him the title, it’shard to see what that could have to do with it. Now,Sir John himself had little belief in titles, but his sisterhad great belief inhim, and though herself the simplestof plain women, she had ambitions so far as he wasconcerned.

“A title’s an empty thing,” said he, looking at herin his serious, thoughtful way.

“No one knows it better than I,” she answered,in her downright one. “And if you hadn’t the realthing to outshine it, I’d hate to see it offered to you.But it’s a courtesy you owe to the world in returnfor its courtesy. If you don’t accept it, you arechurlish. Besides, I always think it’s the greatesthonour that can befal a sovereign, to conferdistinction upon genius, so that, even on a royalconsideration, I think you ought to accept.”

And so plain John Crokerly became Sir John, andwas just the same before and after—neither more orless brilliant or imposing.

From being poor he became rich. He never211married, but continued happily in the society ofhis one unmarried sister. The affection and understandingwere very mutual, and perfectly to thecontentment of both.

On this particular night Miss Crokerly entered herbrother’s presence with some trepidation. After all,she had a reputation for common sense, though, likehim, maybe a little eccentric, and the brightness ofthe frog and the prettiness of Rosalie’s face hardlyseemed pretext enough on second thoughts forinviting her into the house.

“John,” said she, betraying no misgiving in hervoice, as she closed the door, “I’ve invited a younggirl from the country, who is lost, to come in andshelter for the night.”

“What’s her name?” and he looked up over thetop of the paper which he was reading, for daylightwas precious just then, and morning meals too hastyto allow of much newspaper indulgence during them.

“I don’t know; she is a perfect stranger to me.I came to see if you approved.”

“It won’t matter to me. I shan’t see her,” heanswered.

“Of course not.” Then, after a pause: “You thinkI’m not running any risks by bringing her in?”

“I don’t know. You can’t very well turn her outagain now you’ve done it. Small-pox is prettyprevalent, to be sure. Did you make particularinquiries if she’d been successfully vaccinated?”

“You have no objection to what I’ve done?”

“Not after you’ve done it,” and he relapsed oncemore behind the paper.

But Miss Crokerly, after turning to the door,looked round again.

212“I should like you to see her,” she said, for her,very hesitatingly.

“In the morning,” he answered.

“In the morning you will have less time andinclination than now.”

“But what purpose should I serve in going to lookat her? Is she different from the generality ofcountry folk?”

“I don’t know,” she replied slowly; “but I thinkshe is much prettier. And she has with her a frogwith the most brilliant colour I ever saw.”

At this he laughed. “My curiosity is not excitedin the least,” he answered.

“But mineis,” she said, with a return to herdecided manner; “and you really must come, if butto see the frog. It is a marvel.”

“Bring it here to me, then.”

“Certainly not, unless I bring her too. You aregrowing terribly lazy, Jack.”

“Well, come along,” he said impatiently. “Onlyplease don’t drag me into any more of your charitablewhims, frogs or no frogs.”

“Of course not. This is an exception. You mightask her her name and address. I quite forgot to doso.”

So together they went into the hall where Rosaliestill sat. The frog, with a wisdom born of its deadvanity, had again settled itself conspicuously toattract attention on her shoulder.

Rosalie’s pale face and large bright eyes alsopossessed a peculiar beauty and fascination, althoughshe was tired with the journey and sick from want offood.

Now, Sir John’s heart was as kind as that of his213sister, and, moreover, he had a great admiration forwoman when her beauty was of that delicate yetexquisite type that approaches the ideal, and containslittle of the heaviness or substantiality of flesh. Asthey both came toward her, Rosalie rose, and hermovements were so quiet, graceful, and well-bred,that one might have thought the frog’s spirit ofwishing to do the correct thing for the sake ofadmiration had settled upon her. All his irritability,which was not of a very lasting or savage kind,vanished.

“You have a delightful little companion there,”said he pleasantly, looking at the frog.

“Yes.”

“It is rather an uncommon kind of pet,” put inMiss Crokerly; “and how brilliant! Is it real, orsome highly-polished stone?”

Rosalie laughed softly.

“Oh! it is real enough, and can jump prodigiously.”And she put her hand up caressingly to its coat.

“And you,” said Sir John—“you look tired. Whatpart of the country have you come from to get lostin the city?”

“I have been walking all day. I came from alittle hut and plantation beyond the forest.”

At this the painter looked at his sister and she athim. For outside this city of Lucifram there was atremendous forest full of jungles, and only the purein spirit and those led by a light of superhumanbrightness could pass through it.

“And did you pass through the forest unhurt?”he asked.

“Yes. We were pleasant company to each other.But I lost one of my garden clogs. I think that was214very unfortunate, because I never missed it till it wastoo late to turn back.”

She spoke evidently without any knowledge of theterrors of the forest. But whatever reticence sheshowed about her journey was from now respectedby them.

“Then you have no home to return to?” said MissCrokerly, after a pause, during which she hadrevolved things in her mind.

“No,” said Rosalie simply, and her wistful eyesfilled with anxiety and shadow.

“You must spend the night here, then, as I saidbefore, and in the morning we will arrange things.Come with me.”

Then Sir John shook hands with her in that grave,kind way of his, and wished her good-night, and thenwent back to his easy-chair and paper.

He himself knew something of the terrors andblackness of the forest. It had been responsible forsome of his best work. But he was a man whosehair was turning grey, and this girl, whose name, bythe way, he had forgotten to ask, appeared so veryyoung. He was interested in, and felt sorry for her,and yet could scarcely credit the tale that she hadcome hither from the forest; on second thoughts itseemed so utterly improbable.

Yet where else anywhere upon Lucifram could thatbrilliant frog have come from—or Rosalie’s expressive,shining eyes?

So when his sister came back later in the evening,he said:

“I think, for the present, at any rate, we must keepher. Providence has sent her to us, and converts aduty into pleasure.”

215“Yes, indeed. She has had supper and gone tobed. And strange to say,” she continued reflectively,“although for the last twenty-five years I have beentrying to cure myself of impulsiveness as one of mybesetting sins, and was just thinking as I drove hometo-night that at last I had quite succeeded, yet now Icannot help loving her at sight, as much,” she addedsoftly, “as if she were my own sister.”

“That is fortunate for her,” replied he. “Sheappears so destitute.”

“And I don’t doubt fortunate for me. It is notoften one receives a traveller from the forest.”

“You have ascertained, then, that she really camefrom there?”

“Of course! I ascertained it by attending simplyto her voice and manner. One needs no otherguarantees.”

“Well, I can but hope your friendship stands thetest of time. For myself, I can only say, as usual, Ithink you showed true discernment in admitting herto shelter for the night, though at first, to speaktruthfully, I must admit your conduct greatlyastonished me. What is her name?”

“Rosalie Paleaf.”

When Rosalie awoke next morning, it was in acomfortable modern bedroom, furnished with regardto health, and a conception of beauty thrown in.

For the first time truly in her life and experienceshe awoke with a light heart, and such unusualbrightness of spirits that she seemed at last, for thetime at least, to have realised the pleasure and joy ofsimply being alive. The tired sickness of the nightbefore had entirely vanished.

The sky overhead was blue and bright, the air cold.Nothing could have been more promising for a newentry into an old world.

Brightcoat, who had spent the night on the marblewashing-stand, now took recreation in the basin ofwater Rosalie poured for him, whilst she, being lesscold-blooded, as it were, was nothing loath to acceptthe warm water that was brought for her.

But this part of the day’s programme beingfinished, Rosalie turned disconsolately to her dress.

“It’s so shabby and short,” said she.

“Well, look amongst your luggage,” said Brightcoat,who was engaged in jumping for further recreationover all the articles on the washstand.

“My luggage,” said she, looking towards the littlehand-bag. “It can’t be in there.”

“No harm in looking,” said the frog, and jumped217clean over the water-jug, and then sat as still as ifjumping were the last thing it would ever think ofdoing.

Rosalie laughed, and then opened the bag andlooked.

There was packed into that little leather hand-bageverything to make a perfect though not extravagantoutfit. A coat and skirt that no fashionable tailorwould be ashamed to turn out, a pretty, simple dressfor household wear, the evening dress which she hadworn the other night, slippers, gloves, and allaccessories. Last but not least, there was a littlebox of jewellery in perfect taste and finish.

“Oh, Brightcoat, look, look!” she cried, as oneafter the other she drew out those new delights.“Who can have done it? I don’t think it could havebeen the Governor. I’m sure he never botheredmuch about one’s clothes.”

And then the frog’s voice fell to a reverent whisper,so it almost seemed.

“I once saw the Governor’s wife pack a Christmasbox for a little boy a long way off at school, and itwas quite miraculous.”

“Was he her son?”

“Oh, no! At least, not exactly her son. But shewas very fond of him. She forgot nothing, and sentit in such little room that no one thought she wassending anything much at all.”

“You have seen her, then?”

“Yes, I’ve seen her; and never anything moreabsolutely beautiful. It was she who put her tender,gentle hand upon me when first I came all dead anddull and stunned from Lucifram, and by her radiatingbrightness changed my poor coat to brilliancy. But218have you turned out all the contents of yourbag?”

“Yes. No. Here are two letters. One for meand one to Sir—John—Crokerly. Who’s he, Iwonder?”

“The man who lives here,” said the frog, who wasprimitive, and believed in calling men men, andwomen women, with no thought of discourtesy, butfrom lack of education in those matters.

“The gentleman,” said Rosalie. “He’s sure to bea gentleman if he has a title. But how do you knowhis name?”

“Well, I heard someone speak of the—the ladylast night as Miss Crokerly, and they said somethingabout Sir John. And putting two and two together,I’ve come to the conclusion it is he who lives here.”

“How strange!”

“Stranger things have happened. Have you readyour letter?”

“No,” and she broke open the envelope. At firstshe read it seriously, then burst out laughing.

“What is it?” asked Brightcoat eagerly, who,having long ago got over the seriousness of vanity,could enjoy a joke.

“Oh, this letter! It’s been written in a kind ofrhyme, and I’m sure I don’t know what it means.It seems utter nonsense.”

“If it’s not very private, and you read it aloud,I might be able to help you,” the frog repliedcourteously.

“Well, listen. There is no address. It begins:

There now, Brightcoat, what do you think ofthat? Can you fathom it? I think it’s a verycharming puzzle.”

“Who do you think wrote it?”

“Why, the Governor! And out of compliment tohis wife I feel bound somehow or other to—toendeavour to accomplish the task set me.”

“Horses so white they dazzle the sun, and six ofthem,” said Brightcoat thoughtfully. “Do you thinkyou’ll ever manage it?”

“I don’t know. But there’s no harm in trying.”And she laughed again, and was most becominglydressed in no time.

Then together, the frog taking its accustomed placeupon her shoulder, they descended the staircase.

In the hall Miss Crokerly and her brother stoodtalking, he in a thick overcoat ready for goingout.

220Rosalie approached and handed her letter to him,which he received kindly, though with some surprise.

“I found it in my bag,” said she, “and had no ideait was there. I think you are Sir John?”

“Yes.”

After he had read the letter enclosed, he handed itto his sister. She read it with evident interest, thenreturned it to him, and holding out her hand to thenew-comer, said:

“We’re very pleased to receive you, Rosalie. Andas long as you care to stay with us you will bewelcome, apart from any considerations except thoseof friendship.”

“I’m afraid I’m too poor to accept your hospitalityfor a longer time than it takes me to find work.”

“Poor? The letter to my brother is from thewealthiest banker of our acquaintance, the safest andsurest. And his statement proves you anything butpoor.”

Then Rosalie remembered the jewels she hadfound, and remained silent. She had prized themvery much and loved them, and now she understoodtheir value, in one of those flashes of perception thatoccasionally comes to all of us.

After that Sir John went away, and Miss Crokerlyled the way into the dining-room, where breakfastwas laid for Rosalie only, as the others had long sincehad theirs.

And that day passed away as healthily andnormally as Rosalie could wish, and a morning’sshopping was quite a pleasant recreation to her, andin fact the first of its kind she had ever indulged inin her life.

For to be dumb is a great drawback, as most of us221can understand, and curtails most pleasures, little orbig.

And then for tea some very interesting peopledropped in, or so Rosalie found them, and altogetherthe weary, dead, dull, lonely level of life seemed tohave vanished.

Now it chanced one night that Miss Crokerly wrotea letter after the bag had gone to post, and Rosalie,seeing that it was dry and frosty, had offered to takeit to the pillar-box, which was a few minutes’ walkaway at the end of the next square. It was sopleasant out of doors that she took the longest way,and having slipped the letter in the box, preparedto take the same road back.

On turning a corner, her attention was attracted bysomeone coming towards her, scarcely fifty yardsaway, reading a letter, so it seemed to her, withapparently no more trouble than if it had beendaylight. But that fact, though it afterwardsoccurred to her, was forgotten in the shock ofrecognising that here was Mr. Barringcourt.

Rosalie stood still under the gas-lamp, unable tomove, paralysed with fear. An instinct of safetyshould have made her move along, but here shestood, courting observation by standing directlyin the path, with big wide eyes fixed upon his face.Just then he looked up with bent brows and eyes.They came directly in contact with Rosalie’s whiteand terrified face. In an instant his abstracted airvanished, and a very present alertness took theplace of his thoughts. Like a flash of lightningRosalie turned and sped the near way home,223reaching the safety of the doorstep in less thanthree minutes. She did not stop to breathe tillsafe within the friendly shelter of the hall, wheresomething told her to regain a little composure,at any rate, before appearing before Miss Crokerly.She went upstairs and removed her hat and the richevening wrap she had drawn round her, sat downfor a little while to recover her breath, and thendescended to the drawing-room again.

Miss Crokerly, intent upon some fine needlework,did not look up on her entrance; but Rosalie had onefriend whose eyes were sharper and perceptionsmore acute. The frog, whom she had left sittingupon the timepiece, looked across at her. Rosaliegained assurance from that glance.

She sat down without any remark, and took upthe book she had been reading, making somepretence of continuing her occupation as before.

“I’ve heard a rumour,” said Miss Crokerlypresently, “that the Great High Priest is resigning.”

“Who is he?” asked Rosalie absently.

“The Great High Priest of the Serpent,” continuedMiss Crokerly. “I can scarcely credit it, though. Heis barely seventy-two. And he can have no reasonfor it either. It’s an office never vacated till death.Dotage doesn’t count.”

“Maybe he is more conscientious than most,” saidRosalie, rousing herself from her own line of thoughtto take an interest in the conversation.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. There have beenwhispers of it for the last three years. I thinkhe has enemies.”

“I suppose all men in prominent positions have.”

“Yes; but there are enemies and enemies. Now224my opinion of the Great High Priest is that he hashidden enemies, or perhaps he chances to be merelyunfortunate.”

“What do you mean?” asked Rosalie, beginningto be interested in the conversation.

“Well, it began with a scandal. A rumour gotabout that he had admitted a woman to see theSerpent, and some said such conduct was nothingshort of blasphemous. But that was either hushedup or contradicted. Contradicted, I think, and thenhushed up.”

“Would it be such a terrible thing for a woman tosee the Serpent?”

Miss Crokerly smiled.

“Well, there’s a great deal of superstition andignorance mixed up with our religion, as all simpleand right-minded people can see. But it grows insuitable soil, so it’s strong and holds well together.”

“And did it not please the people that a womanhad seen the Serpent?”

“Naturally not, after thousands of years ofprejudice. Some of the best—by that I mean thenarrowest—women I know withdrew their support(they were extremely wealthy) from the temple forsome months during the scandal. They said theyfelt the brightness of the Serpent had been sullied.”

“Absurd!” said Rosalie; and the blood beganto course a little quicker through her veins fromindignation.

“Well,” said Miss Crokerly slowly, “one can’tjudge quickly. Of course you know the Great HighPriest is not allowed to have a wife. She is separatedfrom him the day he takes up office, and if he didadmit a woman from idle curiosity to see the225Serpent—well, judged from one point, it was veryserious.”

“Maybe,” said Rosalie, whose tongue was itchingto say much more. “But do you think there wasany truth in it?”

“Well, yes. A woman’s handkerchief with a redrose embroidered in the corner was found upon thealtar.”

“Never!” said Rosalie, with such a visible jumpand accents so sharp that Miss Crokerly looked up,and the frog’s eyes grew wide with warning.

“It was so, indeed. My brother had it on goodauthority. One of the Golden Priests went in thatevening to offer the prayer at the New Moon. Hefound it there. And then this hushed-up scandalfollowed.”

Again Rosalie was silent, why, she could scarcelytell. She recognised the handkerchief, which in afterevents she had never missed. It was her aunt’sbirthday gift, with a little silk-embroidered rose inthe corner instead of a name.

“But why did the Golden Priest remark upon it?”asked Rosalie.

“That is what I say. And it is that which makesme think the Great High Priest has enemies.”

“But such a thing as that, once died down, couldnot make him resign.”

“Perhaps not. But I don’t think it ever reallydid die down. And last year at the ‘Feast of WhiteSouls,’ after the Fast of Black Ones, as he wascoming out from between the curtains to sprinklewhite confetti down the temple aisles, a mostunfortunate thing occurred. The crimson curtainsuddenly tore from the rings and fell, and there226behind, to the view of a mixed assembly, shone outthe Golden Serpent. I was there myself, havinggone to hear the music, for on these occasions it isvery fine, and was sitting with my brother quite nearto the choir stalls.”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, it was very strange, but we all instinctivelydid the same thing. I took one real good look atthe Serpent (and I don’t know any woman there whodidn’t, except those who screamed, and some whofainted, for what, it would be hard to tell), and then,from a sense of what was due to the male part of thecongregation, we covered our eyes with our handkerchiefs,and all turning our backs upon the God weworshipped, were led solemnly out, with comparativelylittle confusion. The service could not continue, andthat event has made him the most unpopular man onLucifram.”

“Then,” said Rosalie, half laughing, half sarcastically,leaning back in her chair, and looking at thefire, “I should say it would not be a bad idea tointroduce a ‘Feast of Handkerchiefs’ to take theplace of the unfortunate White Souls. A handkerchiefbetrayed one woman and saved the rest. Itshould receive a place of honour in the temple.”

“What a pity he did not take it in that way,” saidMiss Crokerly. “But I’ve heard since that theoccurrence has depressed him terribly. And thelast news is that he is resigning.”

“And which of the Golden Priests was it whospread the first report?”

“His name is Alphonso. I know him slightly, butdo not care for him. I think him ambitious, andunscrupulous, and narrow-minded. I cannot help227but think myself he is the greatest enemy the HighPriest has, though there are some who uphold himas the strictest and highest principled man withinthe Church.”

“I dislike him already,” said Rosalie impulsively.

The other laughed.

“Well, you will have an opportunity of meeting himto-morrow night at the Sebberens’. He is unmarried,so you may be as charming as you like to him, andno one’s heart will break. But for all that he’s greatlyrun after by the women. They regard the GoldenPriests and the Great High Priest as demi-gods.”

The Golden Priests were those whose rank camenext to that of the Great High Priest, and whenthis latter died his place was always filled from thisexclusive body of great men, the wealthiest and mostpowerful in the Church of Lucifram.

“Oh! that will make me dislike him all the more,”said Rosalie. “The men who are run after bywomen, and the women who are run after by men,are both equally detestable. I mean, of course, inexcess.”

“But that is fascination.”

“I prefer the fascination that is clever enough tocaptivate its own sex.”

“Well, men admire him in an intellectual capacity.”

“A general favourite? Most insipid!”

“Really, Rosalie!” said Miss Crokerly, and shelaughed.

“You cannot expect me to love him. A manshould always be loyal to his superior.”

“Well, of course, I am only giving you my ownopinion. And you must not repeat it on anyaccount; because it is not generally believed or228certain that he might be prompted by motives ofambition to make known the incident of thehandkerchief.”

“I hope that if the High Priest does resignsomeone less self-seeking takes his place.”

“Than Golden Priest Alphonso? But that isscarcely likely. He has Mr. Barringcourt for his greatfriend, and—What is the matter, Rosalie? Yourcheeks are all aflame.”

“Oh! I—I—I’ve had springes of toothache allday, and the sudden pain makes me flush. I’m allright now. What were you saying?”

“Alphonso is sure to succeed to the HighPriestship sooner or later. He has much influenceon his side—the Prime Minister, and Lord HighAll Superior for public and official friends, and Mr.Barringcourt, whom I just mentioned, who has greatinfluence in outside circles, and more moneyapparently than even poor Geoffrey Todbrook had.Now there’s a man for you to dislike cordiallyon the grounds of general favouritism. The womenidolise him, and men will hear no wrong ofhim.”

“And what kind of a life does he lead? Is hea good man?” asked Rosalie, leaning forward andlooking across at her.

“I don’t know. My brother thinks greatly of him,and so do I. But it’s hard to tell who’s good andwho’s bad when you come to private life. There areso many things for and against it.”

“Of course.”

“Still, I think as rich men go, who are young andunfettered by anything, he must be fairly good. Idon’t remember ever hearing anything against him.229And I know he has carried out all Geoffrey Todbrook’swishes with regard to charities to the letter.”

“Is he executor?”

“Yes.”

“Then it would be surprising if he fell short of hisduties, would it not?”

“Perhaps so. I expect he too will be at theSebberens’ to-morrow night But if you have anyconversation with Mr. Barringcourt at all, youcannot choose but like him.”

“Is his temper unfailingly pleasant, then?”

“No; it isn’t altogether that. I have known himvery absent and off-hand. But I suppose peopleoccasionally find that rather pleasant in a world ofsuavity and insincerity.”

“I don’t agree with you. I’d rather have peopleunfailingly suave. It spares a great deal of friction.”

“What has upset you, Rosalie? You are mostargumentative to-night.”

“I expect you are spoiling me, and I’ve neverbeen accustomed to it. You should treat me withstern severity, and you would find me improvewonderfully.”

“And you just preaching unfailing suavity.”

“Oh! I preach by the Creed of Contrary.”

But Rosalie’s argumentative mood sprang reallyfrom the irritation that followed on the evening’sescapade.

In a cooler moment, and on reflection, she was notover and above proud of the way in which she hadfled so precipitately before the enemy. And yet whatwas there to be done? To have stood still was tohave hazarded, so Rosalie thought, far more than shehad any intention of hazarding. She registered a230mental vow never to go out at night alone again, andwished, oh! wished most intensely, that nothing hadtempted her out that night. In her own room thefrog broke the silence by saying:

“You seem very upset to-night.”

“Yes. I—I met Mr. Barringcourt, and I ranaway.”

“What made you run?”

“I was frightened of him.”

“What harm could he work you?”

“Oh! he might have persuaded me in a momentof weakness I owed him a debt of gratitude.”

“And yet you have the kiss of freedom on yourbrow.”

“Yes; but like most abstract things, it sank beforethe concrete.”

“You’ll get over it by the morning. Sleep upon it.”

“I should have had you with me. You have farless fear than I. The farther off the episodes ofMarble House become the more I dread them. Theyseemed all right, and yet they were all wrong.”

“Miss Crokerly said you would probably meet Mr.Barringcourt to-morrow night.”

“Yes, I know. And it was only this morning Icongratulated myself he was not in her set, and thatI should never be likely to meet him.”

“If you meet Mr. Barringcourt to-morrow night,you won’t run away—will you?”

“No; because it will be light, and there will bepeople about, and I shall have you. No, I won’trun away in any case. But you will come with me?”

“Of course! I should have very much enjoyed thefresh air to-night; but you did not invite me.”

“I’m sorry. But I’ve paid the penalty of my231negligence; from henceforth you must never leaveme.”

“What dress do you intend to wear to-morrownight?”

“The one I have worn all along.”

“It’s as shabby as if you’d been digging in it. Butthe morning may bring you another.”

“I hope it may not be very heavy, in case I shouldhave to depend on my heels again.”

The Sebberens were people who indulged greatlyin private theatricals and other sorts of entertainment.With the amateur they included the professional,and in between the acts, songs and recitations werecontributed by the latter.

Mr. Sebberen had been engaged in pork, and hadmade enough money thereby to make the pigrespected—as an investment, anyway. He marrieda waitress in a restaurant, who was neither morenor less charming and handsome than most of herclass. She had ambitions, and was young.

But for ten long years they had no children,and never a scrap of the pig was wasted. Andthose ten years were years of increase. Then toput spirit to an ambition somewhat sordid, a littledaughter was born. Both parents were besidethemselves with joy. It is not everyone who canmanage so much, after breeding nothing but goldor pork, and so they felt. It’s a common thing tobe a mother after a lapse of one year, but after ten!they grew proud on the strength of it.

And another ten years had trebled the amplefortune, nay, more than trebled it, and Mr. Sebberen,a comparatively young man—scarce forty—foundhimself with a daughter only ten years old.

Another decade saw her twenty, he in the prime233of life, her mother too. “Sebberen’s Pork” was ofworld-wide fame. The king and the chief prince hadit on their breakfast tables; the poor still boughtthe sausages, and doctors still evinced a weaknessfor onions, milk, and tripe.

No one would have known, to walk into thisgrand house, that its occupants once lived behinda little pork shop. For Susiebelle was handsomeand clever, and had taught her mother a thing ortwo, and made great friends at school, notfrom any particular virtue, but from the glamourof outside show. She had a great deal ofthe outward semblance of that inward spirit thathad made her father what he was. She wasshallow and brilliant, and a perfect mimic of theworld.

When the world wept, she wept. They calledher tender-hearted.

When it laughed, she also laughed. They calledher gay.

When in a mood for admiration, she, too, hadtime for adulation, admired arts and music, knottedher pretty brows at science, and bought rich copiesof all the works of fashionable poets. And whatwas all this for?

Susiebelle at twenty made up her mind to marry,and marry as well as could be. Her father had justhad a tremendous stroke of luck in business. Sheset her mind upon a duke, shooting high to reachas far as fortune favoured.

One year had passed away, and Susiebelle’sambition has not yet been granted. A poor baronet,an insipid, weak-eyed lord; not bad for a beginning,certainly.

234And this brings us to to-night, the amateurtheatricals, and gay company.

Sir John was under commission to paint thelovely Susiebelle, and had undertaken it with afine courtesy that made her mother glow withpride to think the great were servants of the—thesmall. And Sir John would do it successfully afterall, for she was pretty enough to appeal to the senseof beauty in any artist, and her parents were overand above willing to pay.

And that is why Sir John went to the party—frommotives of conscientiousness. And MissCrokerly went because she wished to givepleasure to Rosalie. She, an ideal chaperonand friend. And Rosalie went because there wasno way out of it.

But Rosalie’s dress was in itself that night a thingof beauty. Green, as bright and dazzling a green asthe frog’s coat, that fitted to her graceful figure asperfectly as the shining scales of a serpent’s coils,worked with tiny seed jewels and edgings of gold.

“You look just like the mermaid,” said the frog,“your hair is so pale, and your eyes so bright, andyour skin so fair, and your lips are as red as coral.”

And Rosalie looked in the glass just as oncebefore when comparing herself with Mariana, andlaughed again just as then, and clasped her hands.

Then, when she was ready, she went to MissCrokerly’s room, who, on seeing her, uttered anexclamation of surprise.

“What is the matter?” asked Rosalie.

“I believe your frog is a beautifier. Take careno one steals it in the crush to-night. Or perhaps Iought to take the credit to myself. I think I shall.235You have improved in appearance since cominghere, Rosalie, and to-night you look quite radiant.”

“Thank you,” and with a sudden touch ofimpulsiveness Rosalie kissed her. “You are sokind to me that the credit is yours.”

When they reached the Sebberens’ the largeparty was assembling in the great drawing-room,which had been changed into a theatre for theoccasion. Supper was to follow, but light refreshmentswere being handed round, and proved veryuseful to take the chill off the commencement, asit were. And music not too obtrusive helpeddigestion. Rosalie’s heart beat quicker as theyentered the brilliantly-lit room, advance and retreatcovered by Miss Crokerly and her brother, beforeand behind.

Just inside the wide doors stood Mrs. Sebberentalking to a grey-haired man; Susiebelle was busybehind the curtain, so could not be in attendanceupon the guests.

She greeted Miss Crokerly effusively, stared, as isperfectly compatible with good manners, at Rosaliefrom head to foot, became effusive to her, and thenbestowed the same greeting upon Sir John. Therewas no doubt about it, she was a happy and genialwoman. She evidently considered them among herguests of honour or chief friendship, for in person sheconducted them to a line of seats near to the front.She was dressed in rich black satin, and lookedhandsome enough to be imposing.

On the way she talked much to Miss Crokerly,but looked much at Rosalie, her dress, her face, thecurious little animal upon her shoulder.

Beyond a certain interest, Rosalie read nothing in236her glance. Then when they were seated, she passedaway again, and Rosalie found time to look around.Everything and everybody were very brilliant. Andshe recognised some of her new acquaintances, butnone more intimate. At last she whispered to MissCrokerly—Sir John had left them for the moment:

“Where is the Golden Priest Alphonso?”

Miss Crokerly’s sharp eyes travelled round theassembly.

“He is not here yet,” said she. “Of course Idon’t know, but I expect that he will come. Thereis Lady Flamington and her husband. Is she notbeautiful? but very sad-looking.”

“Lady Flamington—Lady Flamington! Oh!where is she?” said Rosalie, in an eager voice.

But just then the lady spoken of, who was sittingsome distance to the right a row in front, turnedround, and seeing Miss Crokerly, rose and cametoward her. Her smile was very pleasant.

“I am deserting my husband for better company,”said she. “I dragged him here against his will, lowbe it spoken, and am paying the penalty in sulks.Your brother is easier to manage, Miss Crokerly.”

“The privilege of management is not mine. I amonly his sister.”

The other shook her head.

“You are too modest. There was never a manyet who governed himself; he couldn’t manage it.It ends in sudden death or corpulency. Both aredreadful things.”

Miss Crokerly laughed.

“You will perhaps have heard what heavyresponsibilities I have taken upon myself lately.”

“Yes; I hear you have turned chaperon,” and237Lady Flamington looked across at Rosalie andsmiled as pleasantly as before.

Miss Crokerly introduced them.

“Are you fond of private theatricals?” she asked.

“I’ve never been to any,” replied Rosalie candidly.

“She was an only child, and brought up verystrictly,” said Miss Crokerly, at which LadyFlamington said “Oh!” and looked toward thedoor.

She remained sitting by them till the play began,talking with both of them. At last she said toRosalie:

“Do you know, I have the oddest sensation that Ihave met you before.”

“I don’t think so,” said Rosalie. “I have a verygood memory for faces, and I have never seen youanywhere.”

“Perhaps I am mistaken. People often resembleeach other so curiously.”

But now silence was imposed. The play hadbegun in earnest, and it was quite interesting enoughto retain the attention. When the act was over, asong by a very well-known singer was announced;but before this came off a few late arrivals made theirentrance.

“There is the Golden Priest,” said Miss Crokerly.

He came in with two more gentleman. He wastall and thin, with a narrow face and black hair.His eyes were deeply set and fixed close together.His nose was long, and his lips very thin and straight.He looked clever; beyond that he was scarcelyprepossessing, but he was evidently made much of inthat assembly. They gave him a seat upon the veryfirst row. And yet he never ceased to preach that238the pig was unclean! It was a canon of theChurch.

The play had more fine dresses in it thancleverness or substance, but it was received aswarmly as the more deserving performancesduring the interludes.

Everybody was in high good-humour apparently,and the next day the paper said it was the mostsuccessful entertainment and supper party Mrs.Sebberen had ever given, which, coming from suchgood authority, must have been the truth.

When the temporary curtain had fallen for the lasttime upon general and good-natured applause, amovement was made toward the supper-room.

They put a little round-headed man with weakeyes to look after Rosalie. He blinked upon hercritically, and then smiled. Rosalie did not like him.

However, not being dumb now, she needs musttalk to him; never had anyone been more tongue-tied.The coldness of the weather, their onlyconversation, scarcely matched her conduct to him.The supper-room was brilliant; nothing had beenspared that money could buy to please the eye ortaste. He forgot her in the contemplation of hisfood, and she was glad; it gave her time to lookabout.

The table was long, and everyone apparently wasseated at it. There was not a plain-looking womanamong the number, so it seemed to her; and manyof them were really beautiful. But Lady Flamingtonpossessed a certain individual grace, a coldness andsadness under her exterior charm of manner, thatraised her much above the ordinary plane. SirJohn was sitting by her, and they were talking239pleasantly to one another. She gave one theimpression that she could be very fascinating.

But as Rosalie’s eyes travelled up the table onthe opposite side, she recognised Mr. Barringcourtfor the first time that evening, and he was sittingnext to Susiebelle.

Susiebelle was evidently in good feather, foreveryone had been congratulating her upon heracting, and she was simple-minded enough tobelieve them, which gave her quite a charm. Shewas talking to him with great spirit and gaiety, andlooked quite handsome enough to make any motherproud. Mr. Barringcourt was listening so politelythat his attention seemed to lack interest. Whenshe laughed he smiled; when she smiled he listenedgravely; when her face was serious, as it rarely was,he took the opportunity to look around.

On one of those occasions his eye travelled acrossto where Rosalie sat. No sign of recognition wasvisible in them, but a little later he looked at heragain.

Rosalie was annoyed to find that both timesshe had been looking at him, and for the futurelooked discreetly the other way, nay, cultivated theacquaintance of her companion, and found himscarcely as uninteresting as at first she had imagined.

But at last the evening was over, and she standingby Miss Crokerly in the hall, waiting for theircarriage.

The coldness of the day had changed to snow,and the ground outside was white; a sight whichsomehow or other always surprises people when firstthey see it, however much they may have expected it.Thick white flakes were still falling rapidly. People240drew their wraps round them and shivered, orpretended to.

Lady Flamington’s carriage drove away as MissCrokerly and Rosalie reached the top step. Mr.Barringcourt had seen them off, and closed thecarriage door. Before moving away himself, helooked up at the steps and saw these two descending.He raised his hat, looking at Miss Crokerly.

“Sir John is not returning home with you?”

“No,” she answered anxiously. “He said hepreferred to walk; but I’m sure he can have no ideaof the state of the night. I have not seen him sincebefore supper-time.”

“I’ll seek him out and bring him to you; it’s abeastly night.” And he ran lightly up the steps,whilst they got as quickly under cover as possible.

He was not long away, and returned, bringing SirJohn along with him.

“You surely are not walking yourself?” said MissCrokerly, as he proceeded to close the door for themalso.

“Yes. It never occurred to me to order a carriage,and I have neither wife nor sister to be concernedabout my getting wet.”

“Then,” said she decidedly, “you must come withus. I noticed as you went up the steps your shoesare not at all suitable to the night.”

It seemed almost as if he would decline, thensuddenly he said “Thank you,” and stepped inbeside Sir John, and they were off.

Now, the frog was so bright that the carriage wasquite pleasantly lit, for it had crept out from beneathRosalie’s wraps to its accustomed place.

Miss Crokerly then introduced him to Rosalie; but241as he showed no signs of recognition, neither did she,but leant back in her corner and listened to theconversation.

“What did you think of the theatricals?” askedMiss Crokerly.

“I did not arrive in time for them. The secretaryof Todbrook’s Home for Deaf and Dumb came tosee me about a Christmas treat for them. Formyself, I can imagine no treat that would appealto incurables. But he has faith in turkey, and Ithink he said plum-pudding.”

“It must be a terrible thing to be afflicted witheither defect. What else are you going to do forthem?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. I said I’d call to seehim in the morning.”

“Oh! you should have a Christmas tree, and acinematograph, and take them all to the Pantomimeto see the transformation scenes,” said Rosalie.

And she sat up again, and her eyes were verybig and bright, because the subject was especiallyinteresting to her. The other three looked at her.

“Are you a philanthropist?” asked Mr. Barringcourt,with a vein of coldness running in his words,in direct opposition to her heat.

She laughed.

“No; but I was told you were,” and leant backin her seat, and evidently felt safe enough to betrayno outward fear.

“I was speaking last night about your exertionson behalf of the deaf and dumb,” said Miss Crokerly,in explanation, recognising, without understanding it,the tone in each of their voices.

“You were naturally prepossessed in my favour242then,” and he looked at Rosalie again, speaking ina voice not free from sarcasm.

“No. I simply recognised that you were doingyour duty.”

“Which you must admit is the hardest of allthings.”

“I take your word for it. From to-day I honouryou as a martyr. I was not prepossessed in yourfavour at all. Forgive me for my stupidity.”

Rosalie’s voice was changed from hot to cold.Miss Crokerly heard it with surprise, and a silencemust have fallen had not Sir John, whose mindranged on different topics, put in suddenly:

“I hear that it is quite true the Great HighPriest intends to resign office.”

“I have heard the same thing,” said Mr.Barringcourt. “It is a very unusual occurrence.”

“Did you hear the reason of it?” asked SirJohn.

“I believe it has something to do with theFeast of White Souls. The episode was ratherunfortunate. A great many are in favour of hisresignation.”

“Might I ask your opinion?” said Sir John.

“Yes. I think the Great High Priest should beabove scandal, and he is evidently not.”

And he looked at Rosalie, and his eyes werelaughing, though his face and voice were as seriousas those of a judge.

The old distaste rose in her, as of some dumbthing against a cruel and powerful oppressor. Butshe said:

“Do you indulge in scandal, Mr. Barringcourt?I thought it was the recreation of idle women.”

243“Oh, no,” he answered, with the coolness ofrudeness. “Idle women in these parts are knownby the sharpness of their tongues.”

“I’m very sorry,” she answered, suddenly changingin tone and manner, “but I can’t help liking theGreat High Priest; and as for Golden PriestAlphonso—I detest him.”

“Oh, dear! dear!” said Miss Crokerly, withagitation, laying her hand on Rosalie’s knee. “Youmust not talk like that, Rosalie, indeed, you must not.It is not usual. Remember he is Mr. Barringcourt’sfriend, and bears an excellent reputation.”

But as the carriage drew up, she stopped speakingof necessity.

“You will drive on, will you not?” asked Sir John.

“No, thank you. I’ll get out, and borrow whateverMiss Crokerly cares to lend me. I never had a coldin my life. The experience would be new to me.”

So he came with them into the house, and seemedin no particular hurry to depart. Rosalie said tohim:

“Will you do me a favour, Mr. Barringcourt?”

“To the best of my ability.”

“Then give me one good point in the character ofyour friend.”

“Which friend?”

“The Golden Priest.”

“He is a man of great integrity.”

“What’s that?”

“Honour.”

“What’s that?”

Rosalie’s questions were not contemptuous; theywere put with a great desire to find out.

He shrugged his shoulders.

244“There you have me,” he answered. “I’m sure Idon’t know. The word generally speaks for itself toall but the ignorant.”

“Then you cannot defend him on the strength ofit?”

“No; he is clever enough to defend himself, Ihope. You are wearing a very pretty and uncommonornament, Miss Paleaf.”

“It is not an ornament. It is alive, and one of mydearest friends.”

“Such a friend is rather questionable on Lucifram.”

“Why?”

“The Serpent has a weakness for frogs. In anatural state they form part of its food.”

“My friend has powers of self-defence as well asyours.”

“The Serpent has a very big mouth.”

“Yes. And is ambitious enough to prefer men tofrogs upon occasion.”

He laughed, and the conversation changed togeneral topics.

That night when she and the frog were alonetogether, Rosalie began the conversation by saying:

“What do you think of Mr. Barringcourt?”

“I like him,” said the frog, quite shortly.

“What has prepossessed you?”

“Nothing particularly. But I like him. I’m sorryyou were so rude to him.”

Rosalie flushed. The tone was almost graveenough for a rebuke.

“I? Rude? Oh, Brightcoat, how can you say so?I always try to be polite to him, and it always endsin failure. It is he who is rude to me.”

“No,” said the frog; “you take no pains to act orto speak sensibly. And to say you detest anyone isabsurd, ridiculous, to say nothing of bad manners.”

“You’ve never lived in Marble House, so you canafford to talk. Talk about vivisection! It was Mr.Barringcourt who openly deplored to me there wasno such thing in our country. What do you thinkof that?”

“There are worse things than vivisection,” repliedthe frog. “If it were not for that I should neverhave been here, or alive now.”

“But—” said Rosalie, staring at it.

“Why don’t you cultivate a charming manner,Rosalie?”

246“I expect I’m not made that way. Are mymanners so uncouth?” and her expression wasdoleful.

“No; but I don’t see how you’re to get your sixhorses, chariot, and all the rest, unless you try to bemore charming.”

“Well, Mr. Barringcourt will never help me thatway. You should have seen the look he gave melast night, and then to-night, as if he’d never seen mebefore. Such folk give me quite a creepy feeling.Besides, talking about horses, his are black. Can’tyou see he is the exact opposite of what I want?He would do all he could to hinder me. If it werenot that once I saw him looking very tired I shoulddetest him too. Oh, how I hate Lucifram! Somehowor other, I never feel at home here,” and shesighed.

“And you’ve got about all it can give you.”

“Then I’m like all the rest—ungrateful.”

“Rosalie, has it ever struck you you are verypretty?”

“Yes; every now and again it has. But what ofthat? All the women we saw to-night were pretty.It’s the commonest of all things. If I’d a big hooknose now I might appear imposing. But no; eventhat is common enough to-day.”

After a pause the frog said: “I heard someone sayto-night you were the prettiest woman there.”

“Please, don’t! I’d so much rather you left mypersonal appearance alone.”

But the frog continued:

“It’s as well for people to think about these thingsat times. I know many a lovely woman who hasbeen ruined by thinking too much of her beauty in247one way, and too little in another. They know theyare beautiful, and that knowledge is all-sufficient tothem; their food and recreation, and all in all.”

“But I’m not one of those.”

“No. I think you might put yours to much moreuse than you do.”

“You speak in puzzles.”

“You are not so dull but that with a littleconsideration you will understand me.”

So Rosalie went to bed much sat on by the frog,but maybe profiting, as most of us do, from a littlecompression and criticism.

Next day everything was sloppy, wet, and dismal.Rain began to fall in the afternoon, and going out, nomatter of pleasure on such a day, was not indulged in.

Tea had just been brought in, and Rosalie andMiss Crokerly were preparing to enjoy it alone, whenvisitors were announced. They were Mr. Barringcourtand the Golden Priest Alphonso.

“I came to return the umbrella, Miss Crokerly,and met the Golden Priest on my way.”

“Then you will have tea,” said she. “On a wetday you are doubly welcome. No one else hasventured out.”

“We are fortunate. Miss Paleaf, allow me tointroduce my friend, Golden Priest Alphonso, toyou.”

And Rosalie, having a severe and cold criticperched upon her shoulder, rose very gracefullyand bowed.

“It must have been very important business thatbrought you out on such a day,” said she to him, asthey sat down, with charming sympathy.

“Well, I was out begging, and a beggar cannot248choose his weather. I was going in search of Mr.Barringcourt for a subscription for a new decorativecurtain for the temple.”

“In place of the old red one?”

“Exactly. It was old and shabby, despite itsrichness, and we think it must be rotten. There isevery indication that it may give way again, and sowe are making all speed with the new one.”

“Then you are not superstitious enough to think itgave way before from anything but natural causes?”

He looked at her sharply and narrowly.

“Oh, no,” he answered. “One can find a naturalcause for everything. Therein lies the greatermiracle.”

“But how?” said Rosalie, subduing her tongue indeferential attention to the pillar of the Church.

He smiled, as became one of exalted intellect.

“Well, there is nothing like order—cause andeffect—to work a lasting miracle. A startling thinghas a short life. The rottenness of the curtain wasthe symbol of something still more rotten. Nothingtakes place in a day.”

Rosalie’s eyes opened innocently, though they werevery far from innocent. There is no doubt the frogmust have been to blame for it.

“What is still more rotten? But perhaps myquestions bore you. I am so inquisitive.”

Again he smiled.

“You could never be that. But what is still morerotten is the system that lets old men continue inoffice after they have proved themselves unfitfor it.”

Rosalie’s eyes betrayed a charming depth ofhorror at this cold-blooded statement.

249“But, sir,” said she, “who is to be the judge oftheir incapacity? And, again, it seems so cruel, and—and—doesn’tit make a terrible lot of enemies foryou, saying things like that?”

The Golden Priest laughed. The last remarkevidently was to some point.

“In the cause of common sense one has noobjection to making enemies. And I cannot forthe life of me see why the highest position in theland should never be filled by a man till he’snearly in his dotage.”

“Oh! it’s more restful. Besides, a great and agood man should retain his intellect to his death,however old and feeble he may be.”

“Granted! But feebleness is no qualification foran important post. And greatness and goodnessshould discern its own capacity.”

“Is it true, then, that the Great High Priest isresigning?”

“Yes; in a few months.”

“He has discernment, then?”

“I think his action is a little too late for that.His plea is ill-health. None of us have heardanything further—not those nearest to him inoffice.”

“And then there will come the general electionfor his successor?”

(For in Lucifram they chose their highest prieststhat way. The clergy vote for them.)

“Yes; in a few weeks from now.”

“It will be a very distracting time?”

“Scarcely more so than the last year hasbeen.”

And so the silent plot of years had worked to a250fulfilment, the veil or mask at length being thrownaside. To-day was spoken openly what a monthago had been whispered and kept down.

Here the conversation was interrupted by MissCrokerly.

“Mr. Barringcourt tells me he saw the secretaryagain this morning, and arranged for all the thingsyou suggested, Rosalie.”

“Yes. He has never doubted my judgment before,but I think he must have detected a foreign influence,he looked so dubious.”

Rosalie laughed.

“Are they to have force-meat and sausages withthe turkey, do you know?” she asked.

“It never occurred to me to ask.”

“And you an executor of a will! And never toinquire about the gravy and bread-sauce. It’s plainyou don’t attach enough importance to a Christmasdinner. But if I were you, Mr. Barringcourt, I’dcountermand all orders, and give them 3s. 6d. each,and a free day to enjoy themselves anywhere andanyhow, with a night each end, to make a completesandwich and a delightful holiday.”

“You imagine them to be prisoners. On the contrary,those who have friends or relations who careto receive them may have leave from the Home onceevery month. And for the inmates, you mustremember it is no prison that they live in, and theyare very happy.”

“I suppose so,” said Rosalie. “But I always dreadthose public institutions for defects.”

“You are prejudiced,” put in the Golden Priest.“They are the greatest blessings in existence. Ialways regard them as branches of the temple.”

251“So do I,” said Mr. Barringcourt; but the tone wasquestionable.

“I have the greatest longing to go throughTodbrook’s Home,” said Miss Crokerly. “One hearsso much about it. I should like to see the inmatesat work.”

Rosalie shivered.

“Oh! would you, Miss Crokerly? I can imaginenothing more galling to them than to be watched bystrangers.”

“But is it such an infliction to them?” asked thatlady, turning to Mr. Barringcourt.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said he. “I hardly thinkso. I think myself it would be better if theyhad more visitors from the outside world. LadyFlamington is the only lady I have ever takenover the premises.”

“I had just left there,” said the Golden Priest,“before I met you to-day. I hear she caught a severechill last night, and is confined to her room.”

“Indeed,” said Miss Crokerly; and Mr. Barringcourtand Rosalie looked at each other, from no apparentmotive.

When tea was over the two gentlemen rose to go.

“I think,” said Mr. Barringcourt, in a lower voice,to Rosalie, as the others were speaking of a specialfern which both were rearing—“I think it would notbe a bad plan for you to go over the Home with MissCrokerly. The matron will willingly take you over,and you’ll find there are worse things in the worldthan being deaf and dumb, or even blind.”

Then somehow or other they looked at each other,the first time really since the Saturday night. Howlong ago it seemed now! And each was very curious252about the other evidently, for Rosalie’s eyes searchedhis, and his eyes hers, but what conclusion eithercame to it would be hard to say.

And then she shook hands with the Golden Priest,and the door closed.

“Do you think,” said Miss Crokerly, “that Mr.Barringcourt told the Golden Priest your opinion ofhim, and brought him here to-day in consequence?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied thoughtfully.“I think Mr. Barringcourt must have recognised theGolden Priest has no sense of humour, and wouldresent instead of forgiving opinions.”

“Your tone proves appearances are deceptive. Ithought by your manner you had changed yourestimate of him.”

Rosalie half shuddered, and stretched her hands tothe blaze.

“I was simply carrying out a lesson in obedience.And yet my estimate of himhas changed. I findhim so uninteresting.”

“It is the common lot of most of us to beuninteresting.”

“Oh, no, indeed. You are interesting; so is SirJohn; so was—was—so have been many people I havemet—Mr. Barringcourt, for instance. But this man ispetrified by ambition. It is eating up his heart andhead.”

“Well, I am not particularly fond of him myself,as I have told you. Still, I am surprised thatwith your views you should find Mr. Barringcourtinteresting.”

Rosalie’s brows knitted.

“I don’t understand him. I never did understandhim. Have you ever met anyone, Miss Crokerly,253who at times struck you as being very, very good, andat others almost cruel? And that is how he appearsto me.”

“But you know so little of him.”

“Yes, of course. I forgot. I spoke as if we werealmost old acquaintances.”

After that a short time passed away, during whichRosalie saw much of Mr. Barringcourt and the GoldenPriest, though not intimately.

During this time Lady Flamington, young, beautiful,much courted and admired, died. It caused agreat sensation at the time, because she had onlybeen ill a week, and the doctor had great hopes ofrecovery because she was strong. But it was doublepneumonia, and whereas many a poor person lesswell attended to gets well and strong again, she, withall attention, passed away.

Rosalie, though knowing comparatively little ofher, was somehow much affected by her death. SirJohn went to the funeral, and she was put away in amanner that would have done many a poor person’sheart good.

The next morning was bright and frosty, andRosalie took an early walk in the Park. Walkingthere, she met Mr. Barringcourt, and as it wasdaylight, and the frog was with her, she did not beata retreat. She expected to find him doleful, searchedhis face for the usual signs, but found nothing. Sheremembered Mariana’s words, and thought theremust be truth in them.

“You are out early,” he said.

“Yes. I left Miss Crokerly feeding the birds and255cleaning the cages. She prefers to do it alone, so Idon’t offer to help her.”

“You are happier with her than you were with me.”

“Of course. I was not at all happy with you, Mr.Barringcourt. You knew it.”

“I don’t think you waited long enough to find out.”

“I escaped by the first open door, in case noneother should present itself.”

“Which door was that?”

“That is my little secret. You must be ascharming as charming to me, and I will be surenever to let you know.”

He laughed. “Mariana again?”

“Yes, Mariana,” said Rosalie, suddenly standingstill and looking up at him, for they had walked alongtogether. “How is Mariana? I want to see heragain.”

“Oh, she is perfectly well, I think,” he answered.“But you cannot see her. The guest of Sir JohnCrokerly cannot fraternise with a housemaid.”

“When did you find me a snob?” asked Rosalie.“Of course I can see her. I—I should have writtenand asked her to call and see me, only things in yourhouse aren’t quite on the highest principle.”

And Rosalie’s nose went one degree higher, and shedrew her skirts more severely round her, and movedquite half an inch further away as they walked along.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the postman would do his part of the work,but I doubt whether Everard would.”

“Then, if you don’t trust Everard, why not callyourself?”

Rosalie’s eyes opened.

“Do you mean to say if I wouldn’t trust a letter256I should trust myself? How you reason, Mr.Barringcourt.”

“You could neither be torn up nor burned.”

“No. But it is my firm intention never to enterMarble House again.”

“You are the young lady who once said you neverhad run away, and never intended to.”

Her ears began to burn.

“To recall things that are past is mean—and—andabominable.”

“I am not recalling things. I merely wish topoint out to you people always do the things theysay they won’t do.”

“Do they?” she answered, and turned a pair ofmermaid eyes on to his profile, and tried to recallthings that he had said.

Under the scrutiny he turned his face to her again,laughing.

“Still the old trick of staring, Rosalie.”

“You must be very careful how you speak to me.See, I carry my chaperon in my muff,” and shetilted it up and showed the frog sitting there.

“If you had lived two hundred years ago, they’dhave called that little animal your familiar spirit, andburnt you as a witch. Where did you get it from?”

“Another secret, Mr. Barringcourt. You must bestill more charming, and I’ll count twenty every timebefore I speak. But when may I see Mariana?”

“Mariana has forgotten you.”

“Has she married Everard, then?”

“Oh, no! Their friendship is as pleasant as icedmilk in summer. If you want to see Mariana, youmust come and seek her.”

Rosalie bit her lip. “I’ve told you I won’t.”

257“Why?”

“Because if I came you’d never let me outagain.”

“You say so, so I should be very ill-manneredif I contradicted you. My road lies this way.Good morning!”

“Mr. Barringcourt.”

“Yes,” and he turned to find her standing there,with a puzzled and anxious look on her face.

“Would you mind giving me a little advice—tellingme what to do, I mean?”

“About what?”

“It’s about a handkerchief that was found in thetemple, so it seems, some time ago. It belonged tome. I keep wondering ought I to tell, and I don’twant to. I would have asked Miss Crokerly, onlyshe knows nothing about it, and might not understand.What would you do if you were me?”

“I’d worry; but being myself, I’d let it pass.”

“But it caused a scandal, and did the Great HighPriest a great deal of harm.”

“Why did you not speak about it at the time?”

“Because I wasn’t in Lucifram. I—I—I—Yousee, I haven’t got out of my old habit.”

“No,” he answered, and raised his hat and turnedaway again, and spoke with such a short kind ofpride, that just the one sharp monosyllable wasalmost more than Rosalie could stand.

“There now,” said she to the frog, as they walkedhome, she with a burning heart. “Do you like himnow? Did I not tell you no one could be nastier?”

“Well,” replied Brightcoat, “you ask advice, andonly give half the information—not that.”

“I see you have conspired against me. If I told258him the story of the Governor, and how I met withyou, he would only laugh and say I was dreaming.”

“You shouldn’t stammer when you’re speaking.People always misconstrue it, and give it moremeaning than it has.”

“Because people are so stupid. Well, we’vequarrelled again now, and you can blame me ifyou like; but I blame him. And I would so loveto see Mariana again. And to think he called hera housemaid! Housemaid? I’ve seen no womanto compare to her in beauty or grace since I camehere. The only thing she needed was life. Andhousemaids, as a rule, have too much of that.”

It is sad to relate that a few days after this theGreat High Priest died, and his death was a generalrelief. He was little mourned for. The public donot always forgive a man readily, even when he hasthe grace to die, though it’s certainly a great point inhis favour. But still there was a certain section stillin his favour, or rather, in favour of a certain GoldenPriest called Phillipus, who was the oldest of thatsuperior gathering, and likeliest, therefore, to comesoonest upon dotage. Now Phillipus, if seniorityhad anything to do with it, ought to have steppedinto the vacant throne, and would have done, if theevents of the last two years or so had not underminedpublic feeling.

He was a man of sixty, so well preserved, and ofan intellect so keen, he appeared as one in the verymiddle youth of life. But when events are against aman, he may be what he will, he doesn’t make muchheadway, from a worldly point of view.

But the death of the High Priest, so unexpected asit was, threw things forward a bit. The election for259his successor must come off sooner than was expected.In lieu of this, a famous conclave was called togetherat a dinner-party—a party at which the dinner wasnot to be so important as the speeches to follow.

Whilst this was in progress of preparation, cardsof invitation were issued for a great ball in MarbleHouse on Christmas Day.

And so it was the day before the big dinner cameoff, and about a week after the invitations for the ballhad been issued, Susiebelle rushed into the drawing-roomof her great friend, Miss Groggerton.

Now, before proceeding, it may be as well tointroduce this lady cautiously. She lived in Lucifram,not upon Earth. She was so shockingly and vulgarlyoutspoken that on our modest sphere she wouldnever have been tolerated; but there she was.

And why? Well, the reason is a good one. Shehad twice been crossed in love. That on Earthmakes a woman bitter. Not so on Lucifram.

Crossed once, she does become embittered;crossed twice, she becomes a scourge in the land.And Miss Groggerton had been crossed twice.

She therefore spared no one, man, woman, or child,and in consequence all persons with a spite againstanyone went to her. She poured pepper and vinegarupon their wounds; then salt, and healed them.

So it was that Susiebelle rushed into her room,furnished in yellow satin.

“I think it’s shameful!”

“What’s shameful?” asked Miss Groggerton,laying down her yellow-backed novel.

“The way Camille Barringcourt has behaved!”

“I knew you’d never manage it,” said the other.

“Manage what?”

260“To get him up to the scratch.”

“You’ve failed often enough; you needn’t talk tome.

“I was talking to myself.”

“It’s scandalous the way that grey-haired oldAgnes Crokerly gets into everything. The reasonher brother’s never got married is because shenever lets him out of her sight.”

“The reason he’s never got married,” said MissGroggerton, “is because he’s no morals.”

“You know a good bit about people,” saidSusiebelle, more respectfully.

“I should think I did! People are no better thanpigs; they’re swine.”

“Pa made his money out of pigs.”

“They’re one degree better than people, then.”

“I wish you’d let me say what I came to say.”

“Go on. No one’s hindering you but yourself.”

“Camille Barringcourt’s a pig. He’s gone andasked old Agnes Crokerly to play hostess at his bigdo. And I thought now Lady Flamington was gonethere’d be a chance for ma and me.”

“What d’ye want withhim?” said the othersneeringly. “He’s not a duke. He’s plain Mr.!Bless me, you’re coming down!”

“Ah! but he’s got a mint of money.”

“You’ve got enough money for two and more, ifneed be. What you want is a title. If you lookedback into his people you’d find they kept a chippotato shop, I dare be bound.”

“Never!” said Susiebelle, with emphasis, the tearsrising in her eyes. “He’s so real a gentleman hemakes Lord Hysquint look like a twopence-halfpennywaiter in a restaurant I don’t want a duke” (her261voice was rising), “I won’t have a duke! They’recommon little sniggling things that are too proudfor their place. One might think they’d never tastedsausage! I’ll marry who I want to, and if I don’tmarry who I want, I’ll make everybody’s life a burdento them!”

And her voice rose to a high pitch, for she washysterical, and had never been much crossed in herlife before.

Miss Groggerton was enjoying the oratory somuch, she made no attempt at interruption. Thiswould be a delightful tale for repetition. Susiebelle,once having begun to speak, had lost control overher tongue, a state with which many will readilysympathise.

“I went to the temple specially when LadyFlamington died, and thanked the Serpent, becauseI thought it was my turn next, and—and—and nowit’s old Agnes Crokerly—old cat!”

“Old Agnes Crokerly!” said Miss Groggerton,with a snort and a sneer. “Old Agnes Crokerly!”

“Well, he’s asked her to do the thing for him.And he giving a big affair with Lady Flamingtonwarm in her coffin yet! And never a crape bandround his arm or his hat for her.”

“Well! Women who make themselves too cheapcan’t expect to be respected even in their graves.”

“She never made herself too cheap. Ma foughttooth and nail to get her to our place, and wouldn’thave managed it then if it hadn’t been for Mr.Barringcourt, who’s more democratic in his views.He brought her to a charity concert when herhusband was away in the land of Big Boasts andLoud Voices, and ma improved the occasion.”

262“And now,” said the other contemptuously, “yousay John Crokerly’s sister has taken her place.”

“Yes; it’s the way with young men. Mollycoddledby women old enough to be their mothers.”

Her tears began to flow again.

“He’s not so very young,” said Miss Groggertonimpressively. “And you bet your bottom dollar it’sthe other one he’s after.”

“Which other?” and Susiebelle opened her bigbrown eyes.

“What’s her name? Pa—Pa—Paleaf.”

“What!” screamed the other. “The girl withthe pug-nose, the green eyes and washed-out hair.Sprung from nowhere! A lot you know about it.”

“I know plenty, because I watch. Didn’t I seethem walking in the Park the other morning? I’lldo him the justice, though, to say she kept calling himback when he was all for getting away.”

“I don’t believe it. She knows how to dress, andthere’s an end of it.”

“She’s a right-down pretty woman,” said MissGroggerton spitefully, who would have been just aseager to pronounce her ugly upon another occasion.

“There’s no dash, no ‘go’ about her. She givesone the impression she’s been sleeping in a bandbox.I’d rather have Agnes for company than her.”

“You would. But then you’re not a man. Itmakes all the difference.”

And then Susiebelle, being quite overwrought, puther head on the sofa pillow and cried aloud. TrulyMiss Groggerton was cruel. But it was not hernature to remain so long, if justice must be done her.Suddenly she said:

“Are you very gone on Barringcourt?”

263“Dead gone. If I don’t marry him I’ll marry noone. So pa had better look out.”

“Well, it’s Miss Paleaf he’s gone upon now, thoughit may be only a passing fancy. But why not setyourself to work to do her out?”

“How?” asked Susiebelle, raising her head.

“Well, she never goes anywhere but what shetakes a hideous green toad with her. These are daysof extreme religion. Let’s say she worships it.There would be scandal in no time, and it mightend seriously for her.”

“Yes; but I’m thinking of him. I don’t thinkhe’s a very religious man. It might make nodifference to him if he’s f—f—fond of her.”

Miss Groggerton laughed aloud.

“You’ll never get married if you’re such a greenhorn.D’ye think any man would care for a girlwho worshipped a toad when he was there himselfto be worshipped? On my word, Susiebelle, youdon’t know everything.”

“Of course not,” said the other humbly. “How—howshall we begin?”

“Oh! I have a great friend, a priest called JamesPeter. I’ll speak of it to him as a serious matter andscandal. There’s no one like the priests for spreadinggossip.”

After that Susiebelle went back to her accustomedlife, and behaved as a young lady who had beenpresented to the Emperorshould behave.

The great night of the dinner had arrived; thefollowing day was to be the great election, and thetwo most popular and powerful candidates were, toeven the inexperienced eye, Golden Priest Alphonsoand his brother Phillipus.

Now, since the death of the Great High Priest itwas very plain the latter had come into more favour.Why, it would be hard to say. A little whisper here,a little whisper there. “He is ambitious”—deadliestsin in a path of life that fosters ambition. AndGolden Priest Alphonso, with his far-reaching,numerous feelers, like the octopus, must have beenconscious of it. Yet the poor were his upholders.One night a week, at his own board, they were hisguests, and he was seen sitting down with them.This man ambitious? The people’s friend Alphonso!That means so little and so much, just as in the daysof our own French Revolution.

But now the night had come, and everything wasa buzz of simmering excitement.

Thanks to tickets sent from Mr. Barringcourt,probably through Golden Priest Alphonso, Sir John,Miss Crokerly, and Rosalie were enabled to go. The265Sebberens only got one ticket, as happened in mosthouses, and that at a side table, still a place ofhonour, where the wealthiest sat, and were content tosit.

The Golden Priests, robed in their flowing vestmentsof richest satin and cloth of gold, satinterspersed amongst their guests, at the twoprincipal tables. The great hall was crowded, andso constructed that all speakers, from one end tothe other, could be distinctly heard when there wassilence.

It was an off-shoot of the great temple, and wascalled the Golden Hall because its ceiling, walls, andother adornments were overlaid with gold. Menwere there in the preponderance, but there werewomen also from the more influential houses.People were heard lamenting the absence of LadyFlamington. Somehow or other to-night, even inthat tumultuous world, her presence was missed.

Rosalie was there. Rosalie, in shimmering grey,like frozen shiningcrêpe, only soft and clinging. Shewas as one in half mourning among that brilliantthrong. On her shoulder was the shining frog,shining in green and white, and for some reason orother her face was very pale, and her eyes big andbright.

On the opposite side, a little farther up the table,Mr. Barringcourt sat. He wore the curious gleamingjewelled pin she had seen before, and the persistentred light it cast was nothing short of wonderful. Onthe side lower down sat Golden Priest Alphonso.Still farther off sat Phillipus. To-morrow the raceand the fight would be decided.

Now on this great occasion the Golden Priests266themselves did not speak. Naturally, a man cannotspeak on his own behalf. The only thing he canspeak for is a Cause.

But when dinner was over (and it was finished in aremarkably short time, being, as it were, but thetrumpet sound calling to greater things), the friendsand upholders of each candidate spoke in turn. Nonames were mentioned—views only were put forward,facts also. Each speaker was allowed fifteen minutesand no more.

The speeches began in earnest, and they revolvedround the two chief men of those chosen—for andagainst.

Now it was plain that the unfortunate episode ofthe lost handkerchief, or ratherfound one, stillrankled deeply in people’s minds. A debt ofgratitude was still due to the man who discoveredand made known this scandalous piece of information.Affairs in the temple had for centuries beenkept too close. A Great High Priest was neededwhose actions would be as light as day, and characterabove reproach.

So on the speeches went, all interesting andconclusive, because they all pivoted on one concretething, a handkerchief with a rose in the corner. Thething itself was never mentioned, for that wouldscarce have been diplomacy. Like the Serpent,the handkerchief was hidden out of sight.

And so on one little lie, or piece of misunderstanding,one man was gaining a position which clearlywas too good for him. So at least thought Rosalie.She studied the faces of the two candidates, and tooka sudden fancy to that of Phillipus. He came froma line of uncrowned kings. The speeches were going267against him; he bore it with dignity and politeattention to every speaker.

At last one speaker, bold with champagne, ran fulltilt at the red rag, rose, or whatever else it can becalled. He spoke of it openly, and the result was—fatal.

For suddenly the frog said to Rosalie, “Speak!”and being obedient, she spoke.

She rose to her feet with one deep spot of colourflaming into either cheek, the rest white as snow. Acurious silence fell on the room, which had beensilent before.

“I think there has been a little misunderstandingabout the handkerchief,” she said, in a voice thatceased to tremble. “It belongs to me. I never sawthe Great High Priest in my life, but I did go intothe most sacred place three years ago, with—with apetition, and by mistake I left it there.”

Now there was a certain purity in Rosalie’s voiceand simplicity in the words that carried conviction.

For half a minute silence followed, then GoldenPriest Alphonso broke the silent spell.

“What right had you going there? You! Awoman.”

“I—I was very much in earnest.”

“Then,” said he harshly and pitilessly, “you are toblame for all the events of the past three years.”Then his voice altered, and he said: “Truth ispleasant. It is a relief to find the late High Priestwas better than one thought. But you, what excuseis there for you, to keep silence so long, and let aman go to his grave misunderstood? Fear, I presume,of being found out.”

“I knew nothing,” said Rosalie, in a kind of self-defence,268for the expression in his eyes under thehypocritical sternness was very sinister. And thensomeone hissed at the far end of the room, and thensomeone else. Truly the Serpent was alive, and nogolden image either.

But hissing was contrary to the dictates of goodmanners in such an assembly, and the chairman calledto order. Rosalie sat down trembling, all colour gonefrom her face, though she had sufficient strength ofwill to keep her from giving any further signs of theordeal she had passed through. Her eyes travelledmagnetically from the face of the Golden Priest tothat of Mr. Barringcourt.

He was leaning forward, his elbow on the table,looking at her. In his eyes shone the old mocking,laughing light, that said in so many silent words,“Now you’ve put your foot into it.” They showedno sympathy.

Then a man, seizing the opportunity, got up andspoke in favour of Phillipus; another, then another.The tide seemed turning—was turning. Rosalie satas an icicle. Every now and again she felt the sinistereyes from below, the laughing ones from above, fixedon her.

Who would have thought the popularity of a manhung on such a little thing as a handkerchief?

Then at last Mr. Barringcourt got up. In themidst of passion and eloquence, he was passionless.In spite of his height, in spite of his deep, unfathomableeyes, in spite of his firm mouth and certain lines uponhis face, he seemed to be by far the youngest whohad spoken, in manner, in voice, in a certainconfident easiness. People settled in their places,smiled when he smiled, and became suddenly more269good-natured, for at times he had a very bewitchingsmile.

Rosalie looked at him. She recognised that inLucifram she had never seen so handsome a man, orone with so much grace. A dull pain and a sharppain struck at her heart together.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, for on theseoccasions titles were disregarded by the speaker,“the record speech of the evening has been deliveredby a lady with a style and simplicity it would beimpossible for us to beat.” (Popular opinionfluctuated. Was Rosalie so bad as five minutesbefore they had imagined? The speaker spoke soeasily, he made them feel more easy. Wonderful giftof oratory!) “Now I agree with my friend, theGolden Priest Alphonso, the lady should have spokenearlier, when things could have been righted. Buther silence no doubt sprang from the best intentions.”

“That’s all very well,” called a voice. “But whatabout going into the sacred place against orders?”

“When one is in earnest, one goes much fartherthan one intends. It’s an unconscious action. Thelady said she was in earnest; she has accounted forwhat she did.”

“She’s liable to severe punishment.”

“So then are all the women who looked at theSerpent when the curtain fell. I remember hearinga conversation between two sisters who were presentat that—that unfortunate service. One fainted, theother retained presence of mind. Since then theyhave scarcely spoken—one was enabled to see somuch more than the other. It is generally acknowledgedthat all women worthy the name did whatwas natural.”

270Whether Mr. Barringcourt were laughing or no,there were few there who took him anything butseriously. They considered this the acme of perfectionin simplicity of reasoning, for the time, atany rate.

“But,” continued he, “to return to the generalsubject, the choice of a Great High Priest. Itseems to me the greatest fault in the past has beenthe age of the chosen candidate. What one wants atthe head of such a great organisation as the Churchis younger men—younger blood—younger principlesand ideas.”

Dissentient voices.

“You don’t agree with me. But lately I wastravelling in Lucifram in a country of world-widerespect and renown. It surprised me at first to findall the places of importance filled by comparativelyyoung men—State, Church, professions, even trades.In the centre of their chief city I saw a famous statuein marble of a man, and underneath in letters ofgold was carved ‘Aged sixty-five.’ There was nomistaking it; the smallest child could read andunderstand it. On seeing this I made inquiries,and was told his history by the High Sheriff,himself a man of about fifty-five.

“His name was Hugo de Bretton, and as a lad hehad been an errand boy, and in that capacityacquired an unfailing stock of good manners andalertness, the necessary adjuncts to all successfulmen who are not boors. From thence he travelledthe ordinary roads of success till, in due course, hebecame a great banker. His own fortune was enormous—hispower equalled it. This at fifty. At sixtyhis wealth was increased. At sixty-five he seemed in271the very zenith of his glory—physically and mentallyof astounding strength. His name a magic spellin speculations. Then suddenly he resigned frompublic life.” Here a shrewd little smile, almostimperceptible, wrinkled Mr. Barringcourt’s face.

“Now, you know,” continued he, “that a man whoamasses a fortune, a very great fortune, I will not sayhow great, does the greater part of it by stepping onother people’s corns—not intentionally, but he doesstep all the same. And with increasing gold his feetat times become so heavy they do more than crushcorns—they crush life unconsciously.

“This man was no fool. The past had been veryprofitable years to him; so should the future be.How great a sacrifice his self-resignation was itwould be hard to say, but it was done with littleostentation.

“He lived for a period of fifteen years longer, and,I venture to say, in that time he did more practicalgood than any statesman or soldier of his time.He gave of the accumulated experience of life,generously and widely. He invested large sumsfor the aid of respected and aged poor, a thingwhich hitherto had been thought to be the workof the poorhouses. He spent the last years ofhis life a philosopher and philanthropist, respectedand beloved—leaving the outward battle of life forthose who had still to win their spurs. So great wasthe impression left by his conduct that others, lessermen or equal, followed suit. And gradually the lawcame in that all at sixty-five resigned their office, notas unfit for work, but as having done their full shareof labour in the field—ready to give advice whensought, and ready to turn a life’s experience into a272profitable channel for the good of the community.And with such critics standing by, capable ofjudging, and unsparingly, it acted as a spur to thegeneration following.

“And so it is that age is there the most respected.Generation of workers follows generation in perfectorder. In State, in Church, in every division of labourthere is vigour and freshness. For why is the Churchto be excluded? On the plea of sacred exemption?A most sacred fallacy that is so ticklish it won’t beartouching, and holds together pretty much as the oldcrimson curtain in the temple held, till the hand ofGod, through the agency of moths, tore it down fromthe rings of gold.”

“There’s many a man young at sixty-five,” oneargued.

“Have I not given you a notable example ofone who turned his mind from business to philanthropy,and gave his mind and energy and wealthto it.”

“There’s many a man has died soon after givingup the business of his life, if it’s compulsory.”

Mr. Barringcourt laughed.

“He’s either narrow-minded, with no interestoutside his own affairs, or he worships his workabove the Serpent. He should be careful.”

“Many of our finest clergy are over the age youmention.”

“They push out or keep down the younger menwho are just as fine. If they wish to remain in officeafter age, let them work for the love of the thing—fornothing.”

Then he sat down. And not long afterwards theguests departed.

273“What a curious speech that was of Mr. Barringcourt’s,”said Miss Crokerly to her brother, as theydrove home.

“Yes. He’d argue black was white when in amood to do so. But I’ll call on him to-morrow.According to his verdict, there’s only three yearsgood work left in me now.”

“He didn’t say that,” put in Rosalie from hercorner, where she had been sitting mutely. “Justthink, Sir John! Under certain conditions youmight paint the best picture you ever did in yourlife after sixty-five, and what a great thing it wouldbe if you gave the proceeds to some great scheme ofgeneral improvement, that had too much genuinegood to have any of the sentimentalism of charityin it. I think it would be a splendid thing, andeconomise resources.”

“Under the newrégime we’ll have to becomeSpartans,” said he, not unkindly. “But tell me,Rosalie, is it true that the lost handkerchief belongedto you?”

“Yes,” she answered, breathing quickly and leaningforward. “I went there one day, nay, twice, when Iwas in terrible distress. I never mentioned it before;I didn’t quite know how to. But some day I’ll tellyou all, but at present I would rather not. Has itmade any difference to you? I had to speak to-night.It has weighed so long on my mind. And I couldn’tbear to hear them bringing that up as a blot on thelate High Priest’s life. If it had not been so cruel, itwould have been ridiculous.”

“We wish to know no more than you care to tellus,” he answered kindly. “And it has made nodifference. The time was awkward, certainly, but274you had not been here long enough to know howthings were going,”

“Oh! but it’s Mr. Barringcourt,” she continuedquickly, with a queer ring of pain in her voice. “Heknew, and has known all along, and could have spokenand set all things right. It was cruel, cruel! I can’tunderstand that anyone who spoke as he spoketo-night could act as he has done.”

“Did he know about the handkerchief?” said MissCrokerly.

“He must have done. He—he—he was at thetemple the same time as I. If only he had spokensincerely! But it was simply to further the schemesof an ambitious man.”

When they got home Miss Crokerly went up withRosalie to bed. A fire was burning brightly in thebedroom.

“Rosalie, did you ever know Mr. Barringcourtbefore you met him at the Sebberens’?”

“Yes, indeed. I stayed in his house nearly aweek. I met him first in the sacred place of thetemple.”

“Why were you staying at his house?”

Rosalie looked at her with the look of fear andpain in her eyes that had haunted them half thenight.

“If I tell you, you’ll never repeat it, even to yourbrother?”

“No.”

“Well, I was born dumb, and I remained dumbtill I was twenty-two, and then he cured mecompletely, just as I am now.”

Miss Crokerly would have doubted, but Rosalie’stone carried conviction as before.

275“And it took a week for the cure to be completed?”

“No. Afterwards he kept me as a prisoner. Iran away, or something led me away. I don’t knowwhich.”

“It’s a curious tale. Almost unbelievable.”

“I know. That’s why I never repeat it. I shouldhave gone to be an inmate of Todbrook’s Home, butI couldn’t bear the thought of it, somehow orother.”

Then Miss Crokerly went away. She saw thatRosalie was overwrought and tired, and recommendedher to think about nothing till morning, and go tosleep.

When the door was closed, Rosalie flung herselfdown in a chair before the fire, and the frog hoppedon to the mantelpiece.

“Why did you tell me to speak?” she cried. “Idid no good. Only incurred cold glances and hissesand hatred.”

“Flea bites,” said the frog.

“Bred out of serpent’s poison, anyway. If I’dfollowed Mr. Barringcourt’s advice I’d have saidnothing.”

“He always goes by the rule of contrary.”

“It’s a rule I never learnt.”

“It’s answerable for a great deal that happens inthis world. Why do you take things so much toheart?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m a lonely, lonely woman.”

“I’m a lonely, lonely frog.”

She laughed. “You make light of my misfortunes.”

“I think you are much more fortunate than youthink. I bear a charmed life, and yours is the nextbest thing. We’ll struggle on together, anyhow.276Remember, we’re in search of six white horses and acapable driver. That’s all we’ve got to mind.”

“Of course,” said Rosalie. “Life’s more like adream than reality.”

Here the frog yawned, and Rosalie, much soothed,was soon asleep.

Next day this particular city of Lucifram wasbuzzing. The great election was coming off. Yetthere was no doubt who was winning. Golden PriestAlphonso had regained his old popularity. Whenthe poll was read at night he headed the list. Thepeople received it with shouts of acclamation. Inother circles the news was as well received. He wasbarely forty. A precedent was established. He wasthe youngest Great High Priest in the record of time.

But our history is not so much with public eventsas private persons, and we return once more toSusiebelle and her friend Miss Groggerton.

Neither of them had been at the great dinner, butthe one had heard from her father, and the other readfrom the paper, the trend of general events.

“And,” said Susiebelle, with pious horror, “toadmit right out she’d been into the most sacredplace—a place no woman has ever been in before.Such impudent boldness is enough to make one’s hairstand on end. She’s a disgrace to our sex. If I mether in the street with the Emperor himself I’d turnmy head away.”

As this was never likely to be, Susiebelle was verysafe.

“Yes; but what I can’t understand is Mr. Barringcourt’sconduct,” said Miss Groggerton. “I hear that278he defended her, or the next best thing. Madeeveryone laugh and then serious at the same time.”

Miss Groggerton was green when she said it, butSusiebelle became greener.

“Pa says no right-minded woman would care tohear her conduct made the subject of open criticism,and if she’d had a ha’porth of modesty, she’d havekept her tongue still. But I know the kind she is.Those pug-nosed women are all alike. Pushingthemselves to the front if they have to pay body andsoul for it. Have you seen brother James Peteryet?”

“Yes. He called the day before yesterday. AndI explained to him about her. He was to be at thedinner last night, so he would see her.”

Just at this moment, in accordance with the oldproverb, brother James Peter made his appearance.He has been previously introduced to the reader atthe beginning of this book. Once brother JamesPeter fell over a footstool, and got lost in the dark,was laughed at by his brother priests, and to this dayheard occasional remarks made about his conduct.He remembered very well the source of his misfortunes,and had again scented the innocent cause ofthem all. He was the first to hiss last night, provinghimself to be a true cross-breed of the Serpent.To-day he came in as one with news. He had givenhis vote; for him the day’s work was over.

“You look pale, Sir Priest,” said Miss Groggerton,who would have called up the devil to prove himanother, behind his back.

“The events of last night have distracted me,” hecried, sitting down. And Miss Groggerton rang for hisfavourite collation of whisky and ham sandwiches.

279“Tell us, is it true?” they both cried, as theprovisions were being prepared without.

“That woman is in the power of the Evil One,” saidhe solemnly. “And the sooner that little squatanimal is taken by the hind leg and cast into thefire—the—better.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Groggerton, in joyfulanticipation of slaughter.

“I believe it’s that frog that gets her a reputationfor beauty. Loathsome little thing!” and Susiebelleshivered, and then laughed.

“Listen to me,” said James Peter, raising his fatfinger. “Make none of your own little spitefulremarks, but listen to me.”

Being a priest, he spoke as one in authority, andthe women submitted.

“That woman,” said he, “is a dangerous andunprincipled character. Three years ago—listencarefully—she came into our temple and pretended tobe drunk—dumb, I mean. She used to come andkneel up close to the crimson curtain, and I believeshe contaminated it and made it rot. She used tolook up at me with her lovely eyes (she has lovelyeyes, Mademoiselle Susiebelle, whatever you maythink), and point to her lips, and shake her head, andI—I used to pity her. She gave me to understandshe was praying for the gift of speech.”

Here the women laughed shrilly, shook withlaughing, as he had laughed long since.

“But that,” continued he, “was all a ruse. Shewas waiting her opportunity to slip inside the curtain,eaten up with preternatural and unwomanly curiosity.But one afternoon, as it was getting dusk, I went intothe choir stalls to get a psalter that I needed, and280thought I heard a curious sound coming from outthe sacred place. I could not understand it. I hidmyself in the shadow of the carved screen, suspectingtheft, and recognising sacrilege. A little later, outcame this woman, carrying a light. I know notwhere she got it from. But seeing me, she ran alldown the nave at quickest speed, I following.”

“You caught her?”

“The devil helped her. She escaped; and at thedoor she turned right round and put her tongue rightout at me, and said: ‘Did you ever know a womanwho couldn’t talk if she wanted to?’ You have thestory in a nutshell.”

“And you never reported it?”

“Three hours afterwards. I was as one imprisonedin a living grave for three long wearyhours.”

“But did you not tell?”

“Yes; and the Great High Priest would notbelieve me. He laughed. That was the beginningof all his troubles. He was too lax, they say. Underthe newrégime there will be greater strictness.” Andhe sighed.

“Why, she’s a witch, a witch—an impudent,underbred thing,” said Susiebelle excitedly. “Haveyou told Mr. Barringcourt?”

“I am not personally acquainted with him. Butlast night, from the way he spoke, one might almosthave thought he was excusing her. Of course, therewas no putting out of tongues or giving pert answerslast night; she spoke as meek and as mildly as youplease.”

“If it hadn’t have come from the mouth of aclergyman I wouldn’t have believed it of her,”281said Miss Groggerton, glad to have such a reliablesource of information.

“But—but” continued Susiebelle, “isn’t there asevere punishment for going inside the curtain, for awoman?”

“It used to be to have her tongue torn out.”

“Who will do it? Who will do it?”

“No one will do it nowadays. The biggestpunishment would be a fine. Pawn a few jewels;it’s done in no time.”

“She doesn’t worship the Serpent at all; sheworships that little blinking frog,” said MissGroggerton.

“Well, I’ve got my eye on her. And if there areany heathenish practices going on, you may be sureI will report them before long,” said he, and soonafterwards got up to go.

That same night, when all the wear and tear andexcitement of the day were over, and all the cabs hadrattled home, and all the theatres been closed, thenew Great High Priest sat in an arm-chair in Mr.Barringcourt’s study, whilst the owner sat in hisaccustomed one beside the table.

Sacred Priest Alphonso was white and haggard,and the deep lines on his face showed the strain thathe had passed through. His arms hung heavily onthe arms of the chair, his eyes were fixed on thecarpet. Mr. Barringcourt was writing a letter. Whenhe had finished it, he sealed it, and tossed it on thetable, then bent his eyes upon his guest as a doctorsometimes does upon an uncertain patient he treats asan experiment. Without saying anything, he got up,and went to a side-table, and poured out two glassesof red wine. One he filled, the other only half, then282turned his head round and looked at the Priest.Still he sat in the same weary lethargy. A smilecurved Mr. Barringcourt’s lips. “Very far gone,” hemuttered, and filled the glass.

Then he took it across and offered it to him. Hetook it carelessly and drank all the contents. Mr.Barringcourt drank half his and flung the rest into thefire. It blazed up in a brilliant red light, then diedaway as suddenly, leaving the fire dark, as if water hadbeen poured on it. But this beverage must haverefreshed the High Priest wonderfully; for suddenlyrousing himself, he looked up at Mr. Barringcourt,and said, slapping his hand upon the chair arm:

“To-day has ended successfully. But the firstthing I do on coming into office is to bring thatwoman to trial.”

“Which woman?” said Mr. Barringcourt, sittingdown on the opposite side of the fireplace.

“That fool who nearly spoilt everything last nightby having too long a tongue.”

The wine surely had had a heating effect.

“Miss Paleaf?”

“Yes. The one I took rather a fancy to at theSebberens’, and asked you to introduce me to.”And he laughed cynically.

“Oh,” said Mr. Barringcourt easily, “you’ll letthat die down. Set a constant guard of two prieststo watch the curtain. Such vigilance will satisfythe people. Besides, Crokerly is doing the work ofthe panelling, and none can do it like him. Youcan’t afford to quarrel with him over the mischiefmakingpropensities of a woman.”

“Do you mean to say you would look lightly onher conduct of last night?”

283“Of course! She did you no harm. It’s herselfshe’s harmed, as she’ll find out as time goes on.It’s always best to be a bit forbearing with women;they’re given to flying off rather unexpectedly attimes.”

“No excuse. No excuse at all. She did it frommalicious intention and love of meddling.”

“What do you propose to do, then? Tear hertongue out?”

“Imprison her for life.”

“O Lord!” said Mr. Barringcourt, and he laughed.Then he laughed again, and again he said, “O Lord!”

The other frowned, and the light of anger glintedin his eye.

“You seem to rather approve of her conduct,” hesaid. “Certainly I have to thank you for yourspeech, though, candidly speaking, neither I, nor Ibelieve anyone else, could make head or tail of it”(he spoke in a genuinely puzzled voice), “and forvarious other things I have to thank you; but in thematter of dealing with this woman, I beg you will notinterfere.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Barringcourt, in a low, clear voice,“I shall interfere. The Serpent is like everythingelse. It can’t afford to get too much talked about,or its reputation’s gone. If you prosecute her, youmake yourself and it the laughing-stock of Lucifram.”

“I uphold its sacredness and sanctity.”

“Cant and tomfoolery! You say I made a speechlast night you didn’t understand—and I didn’t takethe pains to understand it myself. But if you persistin this, I’ll make another before long which willappeal to everyone, and tread on no general corns atall, but that of the individual.”

284“You are in a quarrelsome mood to-night.”

“Yes. I’ve been in the society of priests all day,and they weary me.”

The other laughed.

“That’s a hint to me. However, for the presentyou may have your way, but I tell you candidly, ifthere’s any hubbub made, I bring her to trial.”

Then he went away; but walking along the silentstreets he said:

“Barringcourt’s as spoilt as a child. Cross him inthe least thing, and he’s inside out in no time. Yetin some whimsical, flimsical kind of way he’s beenthe best friend I’ve had, and helped on considerablythe present affairs. All the same, that girl shall suffer.The thing to do in this world is to teach people tokeep their tongues still. It’s three parts the battleof life.”

And Mr. Barringcourt, left to himself, stood a longtime looking into the rekindled fire, which tells somuch to those who read it properly. And his facebetokened more weariness and contempt than evenin the past years, and the lines of his features werefiner.

“Revenge first; thanks a very doubtful second,”he said at length, and then went off to the stables.

All through the blackness of the night the blacksteeds galloped, and some mistook their dusky formsfor passing clouds, and their wild eyes for distant stars,and the rhythm of their feet for the rumbling wind.

That night, as Rosalie slept, the frog left itscustomary place on the washing-stand, and cameclose to her ear. And though all the room beyondwas dark, the light round her head and pillowwas very white and pure.

285All the things the frog whispered it would beunfair to say, for the frog was working for its ownends, as most of us do, and therefore coloured thingsto its own liking.

Rosalie woke in the morning, and looked at thedeceitful frog, now sitting on the washing-stand, andsaid:

“I’ve been dreaming that a tiny little angel cameand sang to me and laughed. And though I can’tremember one word of what it said, I know thateverything was very pleasant—so that many a timeI found that I was laughing too.”

Time flew on till it was just two days beforeChristmas, or, at least, the festival which in Luciframtakes the place of Christmas in our world.

On this particular afternoon Rosalie dressed withthe greatest possible care, and looked three consecutivetimes sideways in the glass, to see if hernose was any better disposed to turn downwards;but it wasn’t. Still, it detracted nothing from thegeneral effect, and, indeed, might be said to help, ifonly on the side of morality, to keep her from growingconceited.

The frog, having come to that stage when oneevidently regards oneself as quite perfect enough,felt no qualms as to its appearance, took not onedoubtful glance into the glass.

Rosalie, when she was ready, put her head throughthe door to tell Miss Crokerly she was going to paya call; she did not say where.

Miss Crokerly, busy with festival matters, simplynodded her head. It was just a little after three.

Rosalie left the house, and walked on quickly tillshe came to Greensward Avenue. Coming here, hersteps slackened; but she continued walking till shecame in sight of Marble House. Here she cameto a dead stand, and looked blindly on the pavement.Her heart was beating so quickly that if the287passers-by had not been walking along so heavilythey must have stopped to inquire about it.

But from a full stop she ran lightly and hurriedlyup the steps and rang the bell. There was no escapenow, for within thirty seconds it had opened. Therestood Everard, just the same as ever, as silent, aspolite, no more surprised.

Rosalie took her courage in both hands. Therewas that hideous umbrella stand that a dowager-duchesshad once exclaimed was the most charmingnovelty she’d ever seen.

“Is Mr. Barringcourt at home?” said she.

He looked as if he had never seen her before, butafter a moment’s pause he said:

“Yes. Will you come this way?” And led herthrough the outer vestibule into the wide and gloomyhall.

There he left her, and went in the direction of theMaster’s study, but soon returned.

The afternoon had quite faded now, and as heconducted her along the western corridor he turnedon the lights.

Mr. Barringcourt received her almost silently. Hemade some remark about the weather—it was oflittle importance. He drew a chair for her. Rosaliesat down.

“I came to see you,” she began, clasping her handstightly inside her muff, “because—because—”

“Because,” said he, in the most distant of voices,“you wished to see Mariana.”

“No. I’m afraid I was too selfish to think ofMariana. I was thinking only of myself.”

She did not notice the alteration in his expression,because she had not noticed the previous hardness of288his voice. But she got a vague idea he was notparticularly pleased to see her, yet was determinedto go on.

“It has sometimes struck me,” she began hurriedly,“that it was very ill-mannered of me to run awayfrom you. I—I—I escaped by a little door in thestable wall.”

A very curious silence followed this remark; thenRosalie continued:

“The country beyond was very beautiful—at least, Ithought it was. It—it led me to a white house, with alow verandah and a pretty garden. It took me a wholeday to go, and the sun was setting when I got there.In the house I met a youth—at least, I thought hewas young; but afterwards he told me he wasnearly as old as you. But he seemed to growvery quickly in the time that I was staying there.He took me to his father. At first I thought he wasvery old, because his hair was white. I had just oneday’s holiday when I was there, and then I went tolive in a little hut all alone, with a plantation in frontof it. I sowed a basket of seeds in the ground thatthe Governor (that is the name I knew him by) hadgiven me. But first I had to dig in the soil, and Ididn’t like digging at all; I hated it. After that,everything went by the rule of contrary. The seedsnever came up; they grew underneath, and looked tome like very beautiful jewels. But they took a greatdeal of digging out and freeing from the soil. I tookthem to the Governor, and he sent them somewhere,I think he said it was to the city, to be tested andvalued. But every time they were sent back andmarked as rubbish. I’ve never felt quite the samesince. I used to feel young before, but ever since289I’ve felt as old as old. And I do nothing but pretendall day long, in little and big things alike. I pretendleast with you of anyone, and that night I ran awayfrom you in the street (you remember it?) I felt quitesurprised, and in one way just a little happy. Itmade me feel just a little more alive. But after awhile the Governor said I had better come back againinto the world. I didn’t want to, because there wasnowhere to go to, and I did not want to come backto this house again. I was tired of prisons. Butwhen he told me to come back into the world I wasobedient, because I knew he was much wiser thananyone that I had ever met before. He was kind tome in some ways, although he never threw kindnessaway. So one morning I started on the returnjourney, and Brightcoat came along with me forcompany.

“When we were in the streets, I went along scarcelyknowing what I was doing, I was so tired, and atlast I sat down on a doorstep. It was Sir JohnCrokerly’s, and when his sister came home she tookme in; and I have lived there ever since. There isnothing else to tell you. Now you know all, youneed trouble yourself to be agreeable to me no longer.After all, I owed it to you to tell you. You gave mea greater gift than I thought it possible anyone onearth could ever give me. And you no doubt put itdown to science, but I put it down to God. And—andabout my coming here, when first I did come toyou. I came from the sacred place of the temple.I had given up wishing to be cured of being dumb—atleast, praying to be cured, because I thought Godwas not wishful to cure me. And I prayed to theSerpent just to help me to live the right way, because290I knew that that was the only thing God really caredabout And the Serpent seemed quite to disappear;in its place came the presence of God. Only onelittle ball of light and gold was left out of all thatgiant frame and jewelled head. And I don’t knowquite how it was I came to you, any more than now Ihave gone to Miss Crokerly.”

With these words said, she got up and stood facinghim, for he had not sat down during this monologuebut stood looking at her, a thing which, after firstbeginning, she seemed quite unconscious of.

Her words had been simple, her sentences shortand abrupt, and at times somewhat disconnected,but Rosalie’s voice was so sweet that it seemed torun like a silver bell in and out the mazes of thisexperience.

Now she held out her hand.

“I have detained you long enough. Perhaps you’llforgive the school-girl style. Though I feel so old, Ican find no other.”

“Come with me to the stable,” said he, “and showme the door. I don’t believe there is one.”

“You will be able to find it yourself.”

“I had much rather you came with me. It is theonly way in which I can credit your story.”

So together they went through the silent houseand silent grounds and silent shrubbery. The redlight shone full down the middle pathway to thestable door. But Brightcoat shed a softer brilliancyround about, if not so clearly and direct. But thenthere was no need for it as guide to-day.

The stables shone out with a certain curious lightof their own—a dusky, shadowy brightness.

At a certain touch the unseen door slipped291backward, and revealed the shadowy twilightwithin.

And as is customary with horses, they turned theirgraceful heads and looked with wild eyes on the newcomers,and one in the far corner neighed. But theyseemed shadowy. All were shadowy. Eyes shonelike carbuncles, the only distinctive feature. Andthere was nothing of warmth there. Everything wascold and chilly as a vault

But Brightcoat’s light was useful here. It shonein direct rays on to that little unnoticed door thatwas built so unobtrusively in the wall.

“There,” said Rosalie, and she touched his arm.“I went through there.”

“Strange,” said he. “I never saw that doorbefore. How did you open it?”

“With the key of my uncle’s safe. But that hasgone. I don’t know what I did with it. I was insuch a hurry to get through and close it afterme.”

“And the path led you to a low white house witha verandah?”

“Yes. Let us return. It is cold here. You’llgive your horses rheumatism if you keep them in sodamp a place.”

“You are not acclimatised. But we will go.Strange I never noticed that door. As for theothers, I suppose if they did notice it, theyimagined I had done so too.”

When they were back again in the house, whichseemed cheerful after the intense cold without, Mr.Barringcourt said:

“Will you have tea before you go?”

“No, thank you. Our last tea together had not a292very pleasant ending, though it began so charmingly.We’re like most people—best friends when parted.”

“Then I may not see you again till Festival night.”

“Do you still renew the invitation?”

He laughed.

“If I were not very contrary, you would make meangry. You harp so constantly upon an unreasoningsubject.”

“Ah!” said she suddenly. “Let me see Mariana.Send for her.”

“Not to-night”

“Yes, to-night. I will not keep her longer than aminute. Just to see if she is just the same.”

“She has not altered. Take my word for it.”

“You said if I came here I should see her.”

“You must have misunderstood me. I never saidso.”

“I—I don’t believe you ever mean me to seeMariana again,” she said.

“Indeed? What makes you think so?” and helaughed again, not at all kindly.

“Because you know quite well that I should do myvery best to persuade her to come away with me.”

Rosalie bowed, and swept away toward the door,and when she got there she said to Everard, quiteloud enough for Mr. Barringcourt to hear, who stillstood in the hall:

“When next you see Mariana, please give her mylove, and tell her I asked to see her, but was notsuccessful.”

He bowed solemnly and let her pass, but took nofurther notice than if he had been made of stone.

Now came Christmas night. On Lucifram ChristmasDay wasn’t marred by any subsequent church-going.It was nothing better than a heathen feast; the Serpenthad nothing to do with it.

On that day the children went simply wild, andgave themselves incredible airs; demanded their besttoys, gorged oranges and apples, made themselves illwith plum-pudding, demanded their full share ofturkey, and got it, and looked with expectant eyes onthe iced cake when it appeared. Just as if they’dbeen starving all day! The little wretches!

The grown-up world, unless it was going out toan evening party, yawned, and ate its customaryChristmas fare, and drank it too. Then the oldpeople played cards, and the young people sang,especially the young men with untrained voices, andthe lovers behaved as if they really were in love withone another.

Come and watch Rosalie.

Now that day there had arrived two Christmaspresents so beautiful that many an empress mighthave envied them. The first came early in themorning, before the postman; a curious and unusualthing. There is no doubt Santa Claus was on thewar-path, for such a lovely ball and reception dresscould only have been made in some magic fairyland.294It was like shining silkencrêpe, all frosted over withtiny sparkling jewels, all in white. It shone like softpure snow in the sunlight, and fell in folds of simplestgrace. It was so very simply, yet so very wonderfullymade, that one wondered what it was that gaveit such a beautiful effect.

“Is it not too dead white to suit me?” said she toBrightcoat, after going into raptures on its beauty.

“See here, there is a little box below,” said it.

And Rosalie opened it, and uttered the most realcry of delight in her life.

“It’s my stone, my first stone, that I loved so, allset in gold and ready to wear. Oh, Brightcoat,Brightcoat, look!”

And she sat down on the bed and hid her facein the pillows, and cried from different emotions.At last she wiped away the tears and looked up,her eyes falling on the shining stone again.

“I love them all as if they were my children, andthat somehow the most, because it was the first. AndI believe it loves me too. Look how beautiful a rayof light it sends towards me! And I never hoped tosee it again.”

Rosalie took it up, and kissed it, and shed tearsupon it, but the light from it was never dimmed;one might have thought it was made tear-proof.

“I need no other colour. This is quite enough.And you, Brightcoat.”

“Yes; of course, there’s me,” said the otherthoughtfully.

This was the beginning of the day. But when thepostman came, besides bringing letters and cardswithout end, some of the latter bearing halfpennystamps after the style of circulars, he brought a295parcel, also directed to Rosalie, in handwriting that thefrog declared was superior to anything it had everseen.

It was opened in public, and inside was a pair ofslippers as white as snow, and worked in diamonds.And they were such a curious shape they looked asif they must really be antique, because they hadlittle square toes, and gold straps across. Theyreminded one of the daintiest garden clogs, so lightwere they, and when Rosalie put them on she wantedto dance right away.

“They’re made on the same pattern as the littlewooden clog I have upstairs,” cried she. “Look,Miss Crokerly, they dance of themselves,” and inexcess of spirits she pirouetted round the room, andkissed both those elderly people from superabundanceof excessively childish glee.

Where they had come from she didn’t know. Shethought they had come from the same source as thefirst, although they came by post. So that eveningshe dressed for the real pleasure of the thing. Andwhen it came to pinning the jewel into the bosom ofher dress, her hands trembled just because she lovedit so. It shed just the same soft shades on to herdress as the light of the moon might shed on to thesnow—a passing green and golden and palest bluethat melted into white. And on her shoulder theever—present frog, and a new light in her eyes, becausethe ice-tears had rolled out of them.

And underneath the shining jewel her heart beatquickly. She went with Sir John, Miss Crokerlyhaving preceded them in Mr. Barringcourt’s carriagesome time ago.

“Do you know,” said she, “I thought at the296last minute you’d change your mind and stayaway.”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “I always go whenBarringcourt throws his house open. There are somany things that interest me there.”

“Yes. It’s quite after the nature of a museum, isit not?”

“Yes. Unlabelled. So that it has an additionalcharm.”

They took their turn in the long line of carriages,and after a considerable time were enabled to alight.

There was an awning from the parapet to the door,and the steps were also covered a deep red.

Rosalie looked for Everard. He was not there.Two powdered footmen instead. They were notinmates of the Marble House. Neither were any ofthose who personally waited upon the guests thatnight. There was not a waiting-maid anywhereabout to compare with Mariana, and Rosalie couldnot have imagined her proud and delicate faceamongst that throng. But how different did thewide hall look that night! Brilliantly lit, and withhuge fires burning at either end. Fires fit for Festivaland freezing weather. And no undue crowding ofguests to do away with comfort and beauty and enjoyment.The wide doors to the southern wing, leadingto the picture-gallery and conservatory, were thrownopen. So also were those to the west, containing thereception rooms—no empty, echoing fireless placesnow, but full of life and laughter and vivacity.

A reception was held first; dancing did not begintill eleven, when a well-known princess was to leadwith a gavotte. She was very proud of her instep.

At twelve supper was to be served in the large297subterranean hall, a place Rosalie had never been in,nor, indeed, anyone else. And after that dancingbegan again, and continued till four. Then carriagesand home.

On entering, Rosalie was presented with a programmethat explained all this. It was book-shaped,with a mother-of-pearl back, and in the centre aperfect little garden clog with a broken string ingold, and underneath “Christmas 0039”—that beingthe year as reckoned in Lucifram.

“Oh, how charming!” cried one lady, who hadjust received hers before Rosalie. “An old clogfor luck! It is delightful!”

Flowers the most gorgeous and tasteful bankedevery available corner; truly, the house had beencompletely altered from darkness into light.

Mr. Barringcourt on these occasions made anexcellent host. He had none of the clumsiness ofthe bachelor host, being for all the world as muchat home as if he’d been married and had tenchildren. Now, it was a dancing night, and thanksto an excellent example, there was not one smoke-absorbed,or card-absorbed, or billiard-absorbed manpresent. For one night everybody made a delightfulmartyr of themselves, and secretly enjoyed the process.

Rosalie’s programme did not fill so quickly, forthere were many there who took her to havereligious mania, and doubted they might havesomething to put up with. Moreover, there werevery few persons there that she really knew. Atlast she was suddenly accosted by Mr. Barringcourt.

“The first and last dance, Rosalie,” said he, andthey looked at one another. Then looking down ather programme, he said: “What an empty list!”

298“It’s quite right, thank you. I don’t care aboutdancing. I’d rather watch other people, and listento the music. Find me some quiet old lady whomI may sit by, and who does not talk too much. Itis all I ask of you.”

“There are not many present. They are all youngand frivolous, or old and giddy. A much easier taskwould be to find you partners for every dance.”

“I should be dead tired before supper-time; Ican’t talk to strangers, and I don’t know everydance. And it takes rather a brave man to accostme; I perceive them mentally screwing themselvesup to the pitch as they approach.”

“Under those circumstances, it was very kind ofyou to come. Here comes the Princess. I’ll returnlater.”

The Princess smiled so condescendingly all roundthat everyone was charmed with her. She had alight walk, as one who treads on eggs and fears tobreak them, and her admirers said she glided as thespirits do.

As soon as she came—and, of course, she camerather late—the proceedings of the evening began.She danced the gavotte, and brought her owndancing-master and fiddler to play, as she wasaccustomed to be played up to.

When the real dancing began there was one ofthe best bands in Lucifram in readiness, that allthe evening more or less had been playing favouriteairs, and another to relieve them when occasionneeded.

Mr. Barringcourt sought and found Rosalie.

“Should you not have given the first dance to thePrincess?” said she.

299“No. My step does not suit her, and she issufficiently truthful to tell me of it.”

“I can scarcely believeyour step is wrong.”

“No? She is easier to deal with than you. Shegoes greatly on credit. It’s a royal failing. Come,let us begin; if this waltz is as it should be, it will beall too short.”

And no seventh heaven could have surpassed, ifequalled it.

“How lovely,” said she suddenly, “if one could diedancing!”

“It would mean company on a lonely road,” saidhe. “And cheat death of some of its tragedy, withwell-matched partners.”

“Did you—did you send me those slippers that I’mwearing?”

“What makes you think so?”

“The little clog on the back of my programme.It’s the exact fac-simile of one I used to wear.”

“I had a little story as near as possible to that ofAlly Krimjo. For one morning there was found inthe middle of my hall a little garden clog withoutowner or companion. It came there through barreddoors and spring-barred doors, and none could makeout how it came there. Not even I. I never learntit till the night when you came to say your lesson.I proved it when you wore these little satin-coveredskates to-night.”

“You’ll give it back to me?”

“Oh, no! I’m keeping it for luck. That is a lovelystone you’re wearing.”

“It’s one I told you of. Dug from the garden witha great big fork and spade, just as a man digs.”

“I believe I’ve seen it before in my father’s house.”

300“No, indeed. Unless your father was the GovernorI spoke of.”

He laughed.

Then at last the dance was over.

“I’ve found the lady you asked me for,” said he.“Miss Crokerly is my guardian angel to-night. It isshe who discovered her. Here is an excellent placewhere you may sit and see everything, and hear themusic to advantage too.”

And then he took her to a seat, and introduced herto a lady sitting there. She was so charming acompanion. Her silences were never awkward, andnow and again she would give Rosalie informationabout certain people, all of a good-natured if shrewdkind, that was the highest entertainment.

At twelve punctually the company descended tosupper.

The staircase down was of black marble, and spiralalso, like the one above. It had none of the slipperytreachery that characterised its sister staircase, though,and it seemed altogether of a much more reliablemake. To a spectator the gay colours of the ladiesand their sparkling jewels looked like brilliantmulticoloured scales on a gigantic serpent, rearedpillar-wise to support the vast chamber below.

The subterranean banquet hall of Marble Housewas nothing better, nothing worse than a crypt.

It had great and massive pillars of hardened,blackened marble; a fitting support for a fittinghouse.

Its floors were tiled in marble. Its walls ofmarble too. But whereas a crypt, if lit at all, iscontent with lamps of oil, or the feeble glimmer ofelectricity, this place was deluged with light. The301most brilliant candelabra hung from the ceilings,sparkling in the thousand glintings of diamond glass.The tables were covered with finest snow-white cloths,and all the decorations were of silver, purest andbrightest and most finely worked. And all the flowerswere red.

Here, screened from view, the band was playinggently. A soft and scented air of luxury arose, asif to show that crypts upon occasion have finerpossibilities than dining-rooms.

The Princess, led by Mr. Barringcourt, descendedfirst, and half way down stopped to admire.

“Which was the pirate, you or Mr. Todbrook?”said she. “I’m sure you carted off the plan of acathedral, and the material too.”

“That is an open secret,” replied he, laughing.“But his was the theft, not mine. I simply inheritedwhat he had left. But he had gloomy taste. Now,were I building, I’d fix upon a little bungalow, awhitewashed place, with a world-wide garden for thesummer-time.”

The Princess was not of that simple nature thatenjoys simplicity, but she delighted in anything odd,as she considered it, because it made her laugh.

“Do you really mean to say you are philosopherenough to grow accustomed to things?” she asked.

“Till I see a way of escape.”

“And you see none from here?”

The Princess had not such keen eyes as Rosalie;she was not fond of studying faces, except for whatanimal beauty they might possess.

“None,” said he. “Although ’tis said Todbrookescaped by the back door.”

“He died,” said she, and looked at him with a302vague suspicion of horror in her eyes. She was of asuperstitious nature.

But he laughed.

“You talk of death at a dance?” said he. “Onemight almost think, Princess, you were primitive,and scorned the guarded terms of civilisation.”

The conversation had taken a turn not to herfancy. He had thrown a shadow over the brilliantly-litsupper-room. She shivered involuntarily, andlooked about her petulantly, and said:

“Are you quite sure this place isn’t damp?”

“Not at all! Not a rheumatic dampness, anyway.Spirits do not count; they are above it.”

Then their conversation ran into a lighter channelsuited to the occasion, and the feast began rightroyally, when the plumed peacock was carried in, tobe admired in death, a lasting tribute to its vanity.

The band played, and the people laughed andfeasted and talked. In the whole of Lucifram thatnight could not have been found a gayer or morebrilliant company.

But there was one person who never came down tosupper—at the right time, anyway—and that wasRosalie. She had strolled off alone to the picture-gallery,led to look again on that curious representationof the former master of Marble House.

The silence as the last guest went down belowmade her heart beat a little faster. She listened tothe last echoing laugh, and he seemed listening too.The slightly bending figure indeed betokened anattitude of close attention—almost the hidden smileof one who, listening, understands.

The long line of pictures ran either side of her,each in itself a work of beauty. She rememberedthat day when Mariana had gone off to the eastwing from here.

To-night the east wing was closed. All this greatglare of artificial light never traversed there. Aheavy crimson curtain hid the polished door thatled to it.

But Rosalie’s spirit wandered off in that direction.A great curiosity, with a deeper feeling underneathto give the strength it needed, led her out into thecentral hall—led her gliding towards that gloomyfatal door.

She drew the curtain back with one white hand,white as snow against this deeper shade, and turned304the handle. The door opened. Blackness, dampness,and the smell of decay and mildew met her, like ablast of foul despair.

She threw up her head, passed through, and thedoor slipped to behind her. And for one momentit seemed as if the parting kiss of freedom glowedon her forehead once again. And yet again thedarkness was dispersed, for both the frog and jewel,and her own shining dress, that shone apparentlywithout the aid of outer light, gave all the light itneeded.

And here, within this gloomy place, at last camelife and beauty, and the soft, tender light that livedin its own strength and was unborrowed.

No. 13! How well Rosalie remembered it!Mariana’s workroom, a worse place than many aprisoner’s cell. Yet it had about it an air of indefinablegrandeur, the place of no petty criminal, orone sunk in moral disease. The rusty latch upliftedand disclosed the low-built room beyond, and thedim burner, the oaken chests, the damp, peeled walls,the shadowy corners, the tragedy of silence.

But what of these? They served but as backgroundsto a picture, and fitting backgrounds.For there, beside the long, low table, hid by thesheet, as white to-day as ever it had been three yearsago, sat Mariana. But nothing there equalled themarble whiteness of her face. Her graceful figurebent forward, her hands were clasped on the table,and on her lips was that curious smile of pain, quitefrozen there, as, wide open, her eyes stared at thishidden treasure on the table.

Some spider, mistaking the silent figure for a thinginanimate, had weaved a web of finest threads from305head to foot, covering her silken hair and rough-spundress. But respecting the icy chill that hung aboutthose cold-cut features and hands, it had left themfree and bare.

All about the cell fluttered the silent moths,settling and rising from the table. Yet they werepowerless to canker anything. The bitter iron ofliving sorrow had too hard a crust.

The light that Rosalie brought with her lit up theroom. She stood upon the threshold, gazing spellboundwith horror on the central form. Could thisbe Mariana—this frozen statue, this figure nipped tothe spirit with unavailing pain? Oh, never, never!For there this beautiful machine, working so fine amarvel of creation, had come upon a horrid pause, afearful counterfeit of death, a fearful mockery of life!

Then the spell broke. With outstretched arms shehurried forward. “Mariana!”

No sound or movement came in reply. She placedher hand upon the stiffened shoulder. The cobwebbroke; the spider saw, and ran away. She threw herarms around the other’s neck, and kissed her stonycheek. No sound or movement in reply.

Burning tears fell from her eyes. They had nopower to melt that which had been congealed solong, frozen from ice to marble.

Nothing availed—even when she fell upon herknees, and pressed her warm lips a hundred timesupon the death-chilled fingers.

Powerless and weak! O God! for strength,strength, strength of some sort, to give life to thedying or the dead! What blasphemy! what heresy!what presumption!—the ignorant tumult of a stilluntutored heart. Then she drew back and looked306at Mariana, fighting down every emotion to makeway for thought. Her eyes fired with indignantprotest, and she said:

“I’d rather be a murderer out and out and hangedfor it! And to think of this night, when in this veryhouse there is no sound of anything but gaiety andlaughter; and people feasting! And here there sitsa prisoner and worse, and one man conscious of it.Oh, Brightcoat! How can you think well of such ashe! I cannot bear to look at him again.” And thenshe stooped and took the slippers off she wore.“I wore them happily at first, but now they’reall so tight they pinch my feet I wonder whatsweating or freezing system it was brought theminto shape? And I so selfish as never to insistbefore on seeing whether she were free or no.”

The slippers off, she looked at them, then at thesilent figure sitting there, and turned away, half-shivering.She placed the slippers upon the tableon the sheet.

The moths descending, fluttered round them, yetdid not touch; for, taught by instinct, they hadlearnt what could and what could not return todust.

Then with one parting call of “Mariana!” oneloving kiss, one shivering glance around the dismalplace, she went away, closing the door behind her,into the outer passage.

Curiosity bade her try some of those other low andnumbered doors; but all were locked. This tragicwing was surely haunted. The air was condensedof sighs—an essence which hung heavy on the heart.

But before opening that crystal door, all rustediron and cobwebs from this inner side, Rosalie stood307still to think. Then she pushed it open, andemerged into the brilliant hall, still silent. Fromhere she passed toward the staircase leading downto the supper-room, where all the guests were nowassembled.

But to return to them.

There was no lack of merriment throughout thelength of tables. But as the supper progressed, andpeople became accustomed to their surroundings,general comments were made upon a long anddouble-folded curtain of heavy material that hungfrom floor to ceiling at the lower end of the vastchamber beside the staircase.

There was present at that supper a young girl justout that season—as giddy, as merry, and full ofhappy spirits as one unknown to care or saddenedthoughts can ever be.

And to close a spirited discussion with some asyoung and thoughtless as herself, just as the feastwas ending, she left her place amidst a laughingsilence, and ran to the farther upper end of thetable, where Mr. Barringcourt sat beside the Princess.With the happy assurance of youth never rebuffed,she accosted him.

“I come,” said she, still laughing, “to plead on theside of our religion. They say that dismal curtainbears a resemblance, and a very striking one, to thecrimson one within the temple. Will you notcontradict them?”

He looked across the room toward it “One’sblack and the other’s red,” he said, and smiled.

“Yes; but we were discussing what might bebeyond,” and her face was demure, though her eyeswere sparkling with merriment.

308“With what result?” said he.

“We all grew curious. Princess, will you becurious, too?”

“Oh, instantly. What is beyond that curtain, Mr.Barringcourt? Tell us, or show us, pray.”

The silence of expectation had settled on theguests. Barringcourt leaned forward toward thetable, playing with the half-filled glass of winebeside him. And when he spoke his voice waslow, yet perfectly distinct.

“You know,” said he, “it was a foible of Mr.Todbrook’s to collect as many heathen gods andfalse ones as lay in his power. This house wasbuilt on a system—I might say systems—ofidolatry; its furniture collected from disusedtemples sought for all over the face of Lucifram.

“Behind that curtain stands a god, more hideousthan any I have ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty in mytime, as maybe most of you have done. The curtaincame along with it from the temple where it stood,and in a state of wonderful preservation. Over onethousand years in age.”

“What is beyond?” was the general questionthroughout the chamber.

“A death’s-head of unusual size, worshipped andfeared of all in the parts from where it came.”

“Let us see it.” A general murmur of anticipationran round the room.

“These poor heathens!” said one lady, and hertone was patronising. “How ignorant they musthave been.”

“And are still in some parts, madam,” said he.

“We do our best with the missionaries,” shereplied.

309“Let us see it, please.”

This was the voice of the charming youthfulpioneer from the back.

“It’s a death’s-head,” said he, and he smiled verykindly as he spoke. “They are not beautiful.”

“But I’ve enjoyed myself so much all evening, Mr.Barringcourt, that I could not bear to be disappointednow. Besides, the Princess has commanded you.Please show us the head.”

“It has never to be seen but in complete darkness.It’s a clause of the will. It was the condition onwhich he bought it, I believe, from a few crazy priests,who had no congregation.”

But they all wished to see it, light or no light. Itwas a little novelty to wind up supper and take theplace of toasts.

So suddenly the light switched out, and left theplace in total darkness. Those who were on termsfamiliar enough clasped one another’s hands. Theyfound the situation not unpleasant.

And then upon the instant the black curtain swungbackwards and revealed a space beyond, from whichgleamed out, in ashen whiteness and dusky hollowsfrom the blackness, the skeleton head of death. Itwas the head of some great giant of unusual size,with yellow teeth discoloured, but all present. Alllooked at it with gloomy interest, and some beganto wish, as darkness continued, they’d been less eagerto examine it.

But suddenly and swiftly in the silence twogleaming balls of light glared red from the emptysockets, to turn their gaze at every individual roundthe room, and with a gleam most sinister. This wastruly horrible. A room so black and dark that none310could see each other. The bleached skull and skeletonof a superhuman head. And above all the terriblegleaming eyes, the only flash of light in the wholeroom, that had the power of penetrating, and gaveeach the impression the evil eye was fixed on himalone. A spell of silence had fallen. No womancried; the laughter of ten minutes since had died;even the very sound of breathing was now quitehushed. This was the deadened, powerless load ofnightmare.

Suddenly a light appeared on the spiral staircase.The gleam of snowy whiteness, the soft glow of anundying lamp, and the pure colours of a splendidmoonshine. And above all a face and figure of mostsimple beauty, eyes pure and starlit in contrast tothe red gleam. And a crown of mermaid flaxenhair, and expression sweet and thoughtful! It was awonderful and sweet relief to the ghastly spectaclebelow.

And on a sudden the full lights flashed on again,and a sigh of relief burst from every heart and manylips. The black curtain had fallen. Rosalie aloneremained of the weird scene, descending the spiralstaircase. A little thing will often bring aboutreaction, and from being shunned by many, shefrom this opportune arrival gained a fair share ofpopularity.

“Where have you been?” a dozen voices cried,glad to make sound again.

“Trying to find a partner,” cried she, and laughed;and others laughed as well, the search had been solong and unsuccessful.

“Supper is finished.”

There was no lack of those to offer attention now,311and along with this came the general bustle of thoseleaving the supper-table.

But by the side of Mr. Barringcourt stood the girlwho, from a mixture of youthful spirits and curiosity,had asked the first the curtain might be moved.

“I am glad I had finished my supper,” said she,with an attempt at laughing still. “I’m sure I couldnever eat anything in here again.”

“It is fortunate refreshments are served upstairs,”he answered. “You would not let so small a thinginterfere with your evening’s pleasure?”

Reassured somewhat by his tone, she said:

“After all, it was only an idol, was it?”

“That’s all. They must be very brave folk toworship it, eh?”

“Yes. The Serpent is much less gruesome.Isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Well, an empty skull often looksmuch worse than it is.”

“But,” said she, “it wasn’t empty. I never sawsuch eyes. Never! Never!”

“You haven’t seen the Serpent yet?”

“No; but mother did, and she said nothing aboutits eyes. She said it was plain to be seen weworshipped the true god, his scales were such alovely gold. I am going to ask Miss Crokerly tointroduce me to her friend. I’m sure if she had notcome then I should have fainted right away. And Ialways laughed at Blanche for fainting. She usedto do it so conveniently.”

So saying, she slipped away, and to the upperregions, where, so far as she knew, there was nothinggruesome hidden away.

And soon the episode of the death’s-head was312forgotten, and the evening’s enjoyment began againwith even greater zest.

Rosalie’s programme filled, but she never danced.Who could, when wearing only stockings? But shedid not go home, but waited for that final dance, andno one noticed her slipperless feet.

“I have not the slightest inclination to dance, Mr.Barringcourt. I’ve spent one of the most delightfullylazy evenings I ever spent in my life.”

“I envy you. I’ve been going through a speciesof treadmill. I’ve danced with every school-girl inthe room.”

“Myself included. You began the evening badly,you know.”

He sat down beside her.

“Where were you all the supper-time?” heasked.

Rosalie looked at him. She detected the old,tired, wearily contemptuous expression on his face.She herself was far from tired. Her eyes were bright.Her cheeks had flushed a pretty pink; she had beenunder no unwilling exertion to please anyone.

“I stayed upstairs to see how long I’d be forgotten,and when no one remembered me, and I grewhungry, I came down.”

“You should have acted the part of the jealousfairy godmother, and blasted us all.”

“Well, though I be a school-girl, yet I’ve noneof the attractions of youth, and so I’ve learnttoleration.”

“It’s hardly fair to keep repeating what I once saidat random.”

314“Was it at random? I set a whole night apart toweep about it.”

“You had nothing better to do, then?”

“The most miserable of all states, you mustacknowledge. And through no fault of my own.”

“Whose, then?”

“Yours. You have much to be answerable for,Mr. Barringcourt.”

He laughed. “I have expiated most of myoffences to-night; I have danced the polka.”

“With Miss Sebberen. I saw you.”

“Let us go into some quieter room. This dancingwearies me. I never was fond of it.”

Rosalie’s trailing dress hid her feet, and they passedinto the picture-gallery. It was deserted.

She sat down under the picture of GeoffreyTodbrook.

“One day Mariana brought me here and showedme this picture. I forget what was said, but somewherein our conversation she laughed. She saidlaughing always produced a pain at her heart.”

“Mariana laughed? You utterly astonish me.”

His face betrayed no signs of conviction of cruelty,certainly.

“Yes,” said Rosalie. “It is astonishing, truly.Had I lived here as long as she, laughing would havebeen utterly beyond me.”

“It is a good thing you escaped, then.”

“You don’t grudge me my freedom?”

“I grudge no man anything if he wins it, or womaneither. And far from grudging you your freedom,I’m glad you won it.”

“You were glad, then, when I ran away?”

“Well, no—not at the time. I do not know that I315ever became thoroughly reconciled to you till youcame to see me the other night.”

Here a pause followed, broken only by distantstrains of music.

“You have another dance on New Year’s Eve,Mr. Barringcourt?”

“Yes. You will come? It is the one night in thewhole year worth dancing on.”

“I would come gladly; but I can find no dress tomy liking.”

“You have a week before you.”

She clasped her hands round her knee, shook herhead and looked at him.

“I won’t come unless I can wear exactly what Iwant.”

“And what is that?”

“The dress that Mariana was making long ago.But I expect she’s finished it, and the moths haveeaten it away. But all the same, I won’t come unlessI have it. It is the one thing on earth I’ve set myheart upon.”

Mr. Barringcourt looked at her. The pretty air ofreasonless determination suited her.

“It’s impossible,” said he.

“The moths have eaten it away, then,” and withoutpretence or acting two big tears rose in her eyesand fell—one for sorrow at his hardness, one for thememory of Mariana in the cell.

But two tears upon occasion can be very fascinating.

“You never did reason, did you, Rosalie?” said he.

“Yes. It’s the one thing I’ve done all my life.But the simpler you are in this world the more you’rederided. Let me see Mariana to ask her about thedress?”

316“Oh, hang Mariana!”

“Are you speaking broadly?”

“What do you mean?”

“You should never use abusive language towardsthe individual. I learnt that long ago. If you wantto be profane you should generalise.”

“Whose lax teaching was that?”

“I learnt it from the Governor; the gentlemanwhom I met when I ran away from you. But hewasn’t lax, I’m sure. Perhaps I misunderstood him.”

“I wouldn’t put it beyond you. But give me aform of forcible language that would fit in with hisexposition.”

“Well, the only one that presents itself at all tome is ‘Damn it.’ You see ‘it’ means nothing inparticular, is quite impersonal, and therefore no oneis any the worse for it, yourself included.”

“You’re an advocate of that particular form?” saidhe.

“I’d allow it to you upon occasion, but not tomyself.”

“Indeed! Why?”

“Because if I were a perfect woman I’d never haveany inclination to go further than the ‘d.’”

“You’re striving after the perfect woman?”

“Yes,” sighed Rosalie; “but she’s very delusive.It’s so easy to overstep the bounds and becomesaintly.”

He laughed. “I don’t think you’ll ever be that.”

“But why?”

“The strain would be too great. You’d bestremain as you are. I believe the dance is ending.”

“And—and never a word settled about my dress.”

“Are you so much in earnest about it?”

317“Indeed, yes. I went through all the pains andpenalties of trying it on, stood three weary hours asmodel, and it was so beautiful my heart longed for itthen, and has done so ever since.”

“It’s nothing but imagination. You must look forsomething else.”

They rose together, and suddenly she put her handupon his arm, and said in just such a voice as amermaid might, half laughing, half plaintively:

“I won’t come to dance the New Year in; I’venothing fit to come in. And as for the slippers thatyou sent to me, you can search for them just whereyou like. I don’t want them, and I won’t wear them.I only want the dress.” And she showed him herfoot in its silk stocking, without slipper or othercovering.

“Where are your slippers?” said he.

“I’ve hidden them, and you may find them.”

And suddenly he looked at her quite sternly, andhe said: “You’ve been to see Mariana.”

Rosalie returned the glance as meekly as becamethe situation.

“The doors were all unlocked. Besides, youshould have found me a partner for the supper-time.I resented it.”

“And what do you think of Mariana?”

“I think that you and I are inexpressibly differentin our idea of things.”

“Indeed! It is because of you she’s placed whereshe is.”

“And because of me you ought to place her whereshe isn’t.”

“I am not disposed to laugh. Your constantprying is objectionable.”

318“I pay dearly for it: hard words and cold glancesfrom everyone, yourself included.”

“Not too high a price, it seems.”

“Dear me, no! I trust to the luck that saved RedChin’s wife. I’m not in the least bit inclined to cryto-night, Mr. Barringcourt I feel happy enough todance without slippers on.” And she stooped andkissed the precious stone she wore.

He looked at it and then at her. “Give that stoneto me,” he said suddenly.

Her cheeks paled as quickly. “I love it too wellto ever think of parting with it,” she answered.

“The price of Mariana’s freedom.”

“No,” and her voice was a mixture of a gasp andweakness.

“And yet you love Mariana! How you domisjudge the word! You don’t know what love is.”

“Neither do you.”

“I make no professions.”

“I have no right to give away this stone; it wasgiven to me.”

“Keep it, then. I simply asked for it to proveyour inherent selfishness.”

“You could have proved it by a much simplertest. It is one of the dragon’s heads impossibleto conquer. Every now and then I give it a sleepingpotion, and get some rest. It’s very efficacious, I cantell you.”

She turned and went away, and they did not seeeach other again that night, or rather morning.

The next morning, rather earlier than usual, Mr.Barringcourt called to see Miss Crokerly. He sawher alone; but as he was crossing the hall on goingaway, he was stopped by hearing Rosalie’s voice fromthe staircase, and by seeing her coming toward him.

“I have been waiting for you,” said she, raising herfinger as if in warning as she came nearer, andspeaking very softly. “The dragon is sleeping,completely under the influence of a powerful drug.In the interim I’ve brought you this. The thing youasked for last night.” And she held toward him atiny jewel-case.

He took it slowly, looking at her, and then at it.Then the contents dawned upon him, and he lookedat her again and laughed, though his eyes had apiercing keenness in them that took away the effectof the laughter.

Then her manner changed, and she too laughed.She raised her lips to his ear and whispered:

“I drugged the dragon withReason, think whatyou will,” and still laughing, would have moved away.

Now it just chanced (for those who find no excusefor what followed) that there hung just above thema bunch of misletoe. Miss Crokerly was a greatadvocate of Christmas parties for children, had hadthree such since December began, and holly and320other Christmas decorations were much in evidence.But neither person concerned was at the momentcognisant of this fact. One was looking down, andone was looking up, but not at the ceiling.

But all the same, in opposition to the laws ofetiquette, yet quite in accordance with those of nature,Mr. Barringcourt suddenly stooped and took herhands and kissed her. It wasn’t a bit like theordinary kiss a man would give a woman. It fell assoftly on her lips as a breath of snow—nothing offire—so that she laughed again, and shook her handsfree, and saying “Thank you,” ran away again.

After that Mr. Barringcourt went away, looking asthoughtful and preoccupied as if he had never beenfrivolous in his life.

He went home, and passed at once to his ownprivate laboratory and study. He took with him thetiny jewel-case, and going up to one of the bigwindows facing the front of the house, took out thestone and looked at it. He looked at it so longthat a bystander would have grown impatient.Then he went to the other side of the room,and opened what seemed to be a cupboard,but was really a set of shutters opening upon awindow looking on the garden at the back. Thelight from this window showed the jewel differently.

Before it had been softest green and pink; nowa constant red ray gleamed from the centre. Henoted it, and turned it many ways. The light stillremained—no passing brilliancy or change of colour.Then he went into the inner room, and noted thedifferent blendings and the texture by placing itbeneath a glass, there to examine it minutely.Finally he poured out from an old flagon, worked321and chased in a substance like polished silver, aliquid that flamed up in the crucible like white-flamedfire, intense and beautiful. And into this he threw astone that matched in some respects the one hecarried in his hand. Under this great strength ofheat it disappeared; no tiny fragment of lustre or ofsubstance now remained. And quite remorseless toits fate, he next flung in the stone that Rosalie hadgiven him, and bent forward eagerly to notice theeffect.

No change! A glimmering blend of colour on thesurface of the flame. Then with his fingers, as if theleaping tongues had been but water, he took thejewel out, and dashed the sprays of fire away likedrops of water.

A smile, incredulous and all surprised, at firstplayed on his lips and in his eyes as he looked atthe jewel. Then after some deep thought, he startedas one from a dream, the light of sudden understandingin his eyes. He placed the stone oncemore within its case, and put it in an inner pocket,then left the room and locked the door again.

Leaving the wing, he went out into the central hall,and passed across it to the eastern side, with itsbrilliant door and exterior brightness, all so false tothe sordid truth behind. But there he paused, andcalled across the high, empty, echoing space:

“Everard, what is Mariana’s number? I forget.”

“Thirteen.” The answer was simple and distinct.

“That’s a lucky number, isn’t it?”

“I believe it’s a significant one. Unlucky, somesay.”

“We go by the rule of contrary. I think myselfit must be lucky.” And he laughed and flung open322the great doors and passed inside. They swung toafter him.

Then at the door he sought for he stopped, andwith the same quick movement threw it open.

Inside, the miserable cell, the scanty furniture, thecovered table, the cobwebs, the thick dust, the cloudof hovering moths, the stiff and rigid figure; butto his eyes on entering, not the central figure ofattraction. For there upon the table, standingdaintily upon the covering cloth, he saw the littlesatin clogs, with their golden strings and skate-likeedges, that turned up daintily, bearing an almostlaughable resemblance to someone’s pretty nose.For in the same way that many persons’ clothes onwearing them become a part of them and look likethem, so these, scarce worn, became and looked apart of Rosalie. And in the midst of all this mildew,and decay, and icy lifelessness, they stood a thing oflife—an open protest against everything surroundingthem.

Without looking toward Mariana, he went and tookthem in his hand. They were not soiled. They hadonly danced one short delightful dance, and stooddemurely side by side, longing to start again. Themoths had never touched them; they were invulnerable.Then placing them once more upon the sheet,he leaned his hand upon the table and looked atMariana.

Neither pity, distress, cruelty, nor any other emotionplayed on his face. He stood and looked at her, asdeep in thought as if his mind was occupied withpages of a book, a long, long time. Then throwingback the covering from the table, he revealed thethick piles of satin that she had worked at in the323three years passed long since. So this was the dressthat Rosalie coveted; well, it was worth asking for,or would be when finished.

For the first time on Lucifram, and here in one ofits most dismal cells, a smile free from artifice, fromcynicism, from pride, from cruelty or contempt, ranon his lips and centred in his eyes.

But the machine? and how to set it working?Only one way. He crossed to Mariana, laid onehand upon her head, the other in her hands, andstooping, kissed her lips.

Then very silently, as some passing from life todeath have done, she, with a sigh that trembledgently into every limb, swayed back to life. Andon the second breath that stirred her bosom, lookedup, and her eyes came to the face of Mr. Barringcourt.

“You’ve slept long enough,” said he. “You can’tcomplain now of being overworked. A long spell ofrest, and now comes a short one of work. Are youready for it?”

“Yes.”

She rose from the chair, no stiffness, the old slow,easy motion born of coldness; itself born, who couldtell of what.

“Six days to finish this—and alone. Can youaccomplish it?”

“For whom?”

“Rosalie.”

“Has she asked for it?”

“Yes.”

She stretched her arms, then drew them in.

“It’s well, because I fitted it for her, having noother model.”

“You are to make it especially beautiful.”

324“It is not necessary to tell me so.”

“And jewels? Everard will bring them to you.”

Now she raised her eyebrows slightly and lookedat him, and a faint smile came to her lips.

“Is Rosalie then so strong to bear so heavy aburden of sorrows as this house affords?”

“Search all you can find from the dust hidden inthis room, and he will bring the rest. Did Rosalieappear to you so weak?”

“I loved her on that account I think.”

“Part of a cause that changes weakness intostrength. You feel yourself strong, Mariana?”

“Oh, no! But cold. The strength of ice, not iron.”

“Rosalie has suffered from your complaint, I think.But she’s cured.”

Her eyes rested on his. There was a thoughtfulexpression in them, and she said:

“Cured? Then the ice was frozen less deeply.”

“Or maybe the fire was stronger. There’ssomething in that, you know.”

“Yes,” said she; then suddenly: “These mothsare a great hindrance. I have no time to spend insighs if I must work hard and finish in six days.”

“Then I’ll remove them for six days. After thatthey’ll come back again, but you’ll have finished.”

“Yes. For Rosalie. And when to wear it?”

“New Year’s Eve.”

“Thank you. Now you had better leave me.What of these slippers?”

“Sew them with jewels.”

“And make her tired feet? Is it some practice ofcruelty?”

“No. A whim of mine. To show honour to anescaped prisoner.”

325“I must wake. Six days to make a dress, and it isrumoured that one of the planets was made in thattime! I must hasten.”

So then he left her, and she worked alone. Andhour by hour some fresh seam in the design becamecompleted, and on the third day Everard came. Hecarried a large sack, and it was full of jewels of everyknown description, small and large. Standing there,he said suddenly:

“Can I help you with these? Sorting orstringing?”

“But surely it’s against the rules.”

“It is advisable to break them in emergency. AndI doubt if this be not finished, some great calamitywill rise. The Master is away. The work is out ofall proportion to the time. For his sake, for yours,and for hers, I wish to help you, for this day, atleast.”

So Mariana gave way, and one little flame of heatpassed over the icy barrier almost unconsciously.The cell, being less lonely now, lost its ghastliness.

Thus the time passed away until completion, thelast day of the old year, the eve of the new.

And on that afternoon at four o’clock Marianaheaved a sigh of apparent contentment, for all wasnow in readiness. And Everard, having done his fullshare in the arrangement of jewels, and whatever elsewas needed, returned to the door in order to welcomeMr. Barringcourt, who just then returned.

To return again for a brief interval to that dayfollowing Christmas Day. Mr. Barringcourt, whenhe had left Mariana, went to see the Great HighPriest, and afterwards attended with many others theService of Dedication of the Curtain. Miss Crokerlywas there, but not Rosalie. Afterwards Mr. Barringcourtsaid to the new High Priest when left alonetogether, and the guests departed:

“Why didn’t you invite Miss Paleaf?”

“I have told you why. I am only waiting fora sufficiently good opportunity to bring forward thetrial.”

Mr. Barringcourt’s lips set. “You make a greatstir about nothing,” said he.

“I don’t forget the awkward time at which shespoke.”

“And when do you propose to send out thesummons?”

“On New Year’s Day. A public trial and anecclesiastical court.”

“And you as judge?”

“Oh, no! There is Golden Priest Ferdinand. Itake no further steps in the matter publicly.”

“And the punishment?”

“Life-time imprisonment.”

327Mr. Barringcourt looked at him and laughed.

“You laugh? After all, it is worth nothing better.People must be taught a proper respect for establishedreligion.”

“In childhood, yes. I doubt when they get olderit’s too late. And so you contemplate lifetimeimprisonment?”

“Could you suggest anything better?”

“Well, there’s escape. What do you say to that?”

“Futile. Absolutely futile.”

“The Devil has helped her once; he may do soagain.”

“The Devil! Who or what is that?”

(They were ignorant of such a person on Lucifram.)

“Ah! I had forgotten. He was never fashionablehere. The Devil is a libel on virtue; the exactimitator of God.”

“And she is on familiar terms with this—thisatrocity?”

“I owe a general pardon. I was confounding himwith a Superior Being, an error commoner than onethinks of.”

“You speak in riddles,” said the Great HighPriest, and his tone was irritable.

“I mean to say God helped her to escape twicebefore—nay, three times. You are brave, to saynothing more of it, to put another spoke in thewheel.”

“By God do I understand you to mean theSerpent?”

“As you will. To my certain knowledge she haskissed the Serpent. The sensation must have been anew one, almost a dangerous one. After ages spenthearing the dull praise of men coming from lips all328stereotyped, one soft kiss would have its—er—itsvalue.”

The Great High Priest looked at him sternly, asbecame his office.

“The Serpent is above such petty considerations,”said he. “You speak with too much levity of sacredthings.”

“A fault of my education. Forgive me for it.And the summons is to be issued on New Year’sDay?”

“Or on the eve.”

“I understand you. God and his counterfeit willhelp or hinder you. Good-night!”

Next morning, walking in the Park, he came onRosalie walking with the frog. Quite unconsciousof the impending trial, she stopped on meeting him.

“Good morning!” said she. “You look verythoughtful.”

“Yes. I’m thinking of taking a very unusualstep.”

“What, pray?”

“Paying a visit to my mother,” and he looked ather.

“That means your father, too, does it not?”

“No,” he answered, still looking at her in the samethoughtful, absent way. “I frequently visit him.At present they are separated.”

Now it was her turn to be thoughtful. “That’svery sad, isn’t it?”

“Sadder than you’d think of; for, but for theirony of Fate, they would be quite inseparable.”

“And is it an unusual thing for you to visit her?”

“Yes; I do not care to burden her with mypresence, unless there is some reason in it.”

329“That sounds unnatural. Does she love you?”

“As much as I love her.”

“That conveys nothing to my mind. Your powersof love are very enigmatical.”

“They’re simple enough on a worthy object.”

“And she is very worthy?”

He made no answer, but said presently, with suddendecision:

“Mariana has begun upon the dress. It will befinished on New Year’s Eve.”

“And I to wear it?”

“Yes.”

“I went to see her. You guessed at it. But sheseemed more dead than living.”

“A little extra sleep. She said she needed it.”

“What of the jewel that I lent you?”

“It is very safe. I have a request to make toyou.”

“What is it?”

“I wish to beg the jewel for my mother.”

“What is she like?”

He smiled.

“Words cannot describe her; to my eyes, theperfection of beauty and loveliness. As innocentand simple and free from care or evil as thelight.”

“You don’t resemble her, do you?” asked Rosalie,unconscious of the bitterness of her remark.

He laughed, perceiving it.

“You may rest safely assured there. I know noone who resembles her.”

“Is she kind?”

“The essence of it.”

“Then what of Mariana, and such as she?”

330His brow clouded. “You ask questions I’m notdisposed to answer.”

“Ah! but I’m thinking of my jewel. I love it so.Your mother would not value it a tenth part as muchas I. Nay, before to-day it, and others like it, havebeen reckoned rubbish. She might think so too.”

“Give me leave to take it to her, and await herverdict. If she underrates it, I’ll bring it back toyou.”

“I’m afraid I must give the dragon so strong adose there’ll be no life left in it.”

“If it is what you told me, the more honourremains to you in killing it with such a potion.”

And Rosalie laughed, but her eyes werewonderfully serious, and she said simply:

“I’ll give it to you, Mr. Barringcourt, because itseems to me to love one’s mother is the greatest andthe simplest thing in the duty towards one’s neighbour,if that mother is as she should be. And it ismore than pleasant to me to know that somewherein the wide universe there is someone who has brokenthrough the natural hardness of your heart, andcalled forth a respect and love of which I neverthought you capable.”

The remaining days till New Year’s Eve passedquickly. The weather was gloriously fine, thesunsets unequalled.

Early in the evening Mariana arrived, and broughtwith her a large box containing the dress and otherthings. She came in a carriage drawn by chestnuthorses, not occupants of the stables at Marble House.

Rosalie came out into the hall to meet her, andkissed her with affection, which Mariana in her colderway returned.

331Together they went upstairs, Rosalie suddenlyfinding herself very short of words to express herdelight at meeting this old friend.

And it was Mariana who dressed her completely,from the arranging of her hair to the tying on of herclog-shaped, satin-jewelled slippers.

And oh! what a dress! With designs of lovers’knots worked in delicately-tinted jewels all over itsshining surface, and a train that hung from theshoulders in showers of priceless lace. It was studdedwith jewels in the bodice, and on her hair was placeda tiara that stood high, and had the same designworked in diamonds. Clasps of gold and jewelswere on her arms, and round her neck one finechain of gold—no other ornament.

“I’m afraid, after all, Mariana,” said she at length,“your great ambition has not come to pass.”

“What thing was that?”

“You wished it for a wedding-dress.”

“I am content to see it as it is, and you sobeautiful.”

“And when to-night is over you will want itback?”

But Mariana smiled, half dreamily.

“To-night is not yet over, and you will never wishto part with such a robe. You begged it from theMaster, and you’ll keep it I know none other whowould care to bear so great a load, though in itsbeauty all forget to think of that.”

“I do not find it very heavy.”

“It’s well.”

Suddenly Rosalie laughed.

“I say, Mariana,” said she, “suppose—supposewhen I come to Marble House it should shine red332all round about me. They’d take me for a veritablescarlet woman. I have misgivings. I rememberonce before.”

But Mariana shook her head.

“I heard from the Master you had gained strengthfrom weakness; and I heard from Everard you hadjewels of your own that you have worn to counteractthe fatal charm of these.”

“Not of my own, Mariana; they were of God.”“Ah, God! I had forgotten Him. The dreamhas passed so long ago.”

“God is no dream, but a living reality,Mariana.”

“I was once bitten by a snake, and here they callthe Serpent God. I love not such an image, butlive in the never-ending twilight. I think it is theshadowed light the idol throws, placing itself betwixtthe world and God.”

And suddenly Rosalie took her hands in hers, anddrew her to her with a gentle force, and kissed herlips and forehead, saying:

“But soon the idol will vanish out of sight, andthe true light come. You needn’t live in the twilight,Mariana, any more than I. You only need to trustthe Glorious Spirit working behind the leaden cloud,and struggle silently toward the healing light. Andsome day, even though the waiting time be long, theicy burden will be rolled away, and you all warmand bright again to love and honour God withstrength unfettered.”

And then Brightcoat said: “I should like to gowith Mariana back to Marble House.”

“Do you care for such a companion?” askedRosalie of Mariana.

333But the frog jumped across and settled on hershoulder.

“You need me no more now, Rosalie. I havedone what work I could for you. But now toMariana. She may need me as once you did. Andthough her heart is cold to-day, the New Yeardawns, and with it in the distance I see a fairerprospect and a warmer light breaking upon thehorizon of heaven.”

And so with this new companion Mariana wentaway back to the Marble House. Into that gloomydwelling, though now all brilliantly lit, the frogentered unafraid, and none thought to harm it, forthe charm had worked, or perhaps was working.

A brilliant house again, a brilliant crowd, the eveof the New Year, the death-bed of the Old. Justthree hours more to wait.

But as Rosalie drove along, it was as if depressionand the highest spirits fought one another for themastery.

“The effects of wearing fine clothing,” said she,and laughed and sighed in a breath. “There ismagic in these jewels, I feel certain. Oh! if I couldbut wear again my own precious moonstone talismanagainst all heaviness, instead of all this finery, thatdoes its best to cramp my spirits, and half succeeds.”

On entering, she was almost immediately joined byMr. Barringcourt. Never had he looked to Rosalieas to-night, never perhaps she to him. With ascrutiny which had become habitual, they eyed eachother, and at last Rosalie said:

“Do you not think I was right in being covetousof such a lovely gown?”

“And the jewels?”

“Oh, they were an extra thrown in. I’d muchrather have been without them. You should bekind, not lavish, Mr. Barringcourt. After an hour’swearing they begin to assert their individuality andweight.”

“And at first you felt them light?”

335“Being alive to their beauty, I was dead to theirencumbrance.” And then again, this time seriously,she said: “But in truth I must acknowledge, perhaps,their weight cannot be very great, for I have thegreatest wish to dance through every dance, and lookto you to find me partners. I am not really alteredbecause I stole behind the temple curtain; for onenight it might be forgotten.”

“The first dance is with me, and the lastone.”

“Oh, no! I am in a mood of ingratitude to-night.I cannot for the favour of this dress, and all itsvaluable accessories, even say ‘Thank you.’ Find mea partner for the dance that’s just beginning. No onehas come near me since I came.”

“The first dance is with me.”

“Indeed, no. I’m entering on a life of self-denial.As soon as I want to do a thing I shall cross myselfand do the opposite. What chance shall I stand ofheaven, do you think, at that rate?”

“You’ll never get there. Be guided by me, and beless contrary.”

“It goes very much against the grain for me todance with you. Must I be consistent, or must I becontrary?”

“Become impersonal, and leave the decision withme.”

“You are too selfish to be altogether trusted.”

“I? Selfish?”

“Yes. I want to dance, and here you keepme talking. I want to study men and formcomparisons.”

“You can’t in a place like this. On these occasionsthey’re all more or less alike.”

336“And on all others. The similarity of humanity isnerve-destroying.”

“A very pleasant state of things. None but a foolwould wish it otherwise. But if you wish to danceyou shall have partners in sufficiency. I’ll say you’requite harmless to-night.”

“Say no such thing. Mariana tells me she wasonce bitten by a snake, and so was I. Since thenI’ve had the greatest inclination to bite everyone whocomes near me. She took it badly; I, by God’s help,was enabled to take it well.”

“What particular snake was it that bit you?”

“I think it must have been the God ofLucifram.”

Then he left her and went away, and through theevening Rosalie danced, seemingly happy, on to thathour when the Old Year and the New meet and partagain.

Then she sought Mr. Barringcourt, and found him,not amongst his guests, but in that now deserteddrawing-room where once Mariana had played forher. He was looking out on to the gas-lit streets,and the window being open, the cold night air blewinto the room. The lights in it were shining fully,yet the city without was plainly visible.

“You have left the crowd?” said she.

“Yes,” he answered. “They can amuse themselves.You look tired.”

She laughed, an apology for deeper feeling, andlooked at him with eyes whose tiredness waslost in a certain appeal and pathetic beauty, thatcharacterised them long since in the days ofsilence.

“I think I overrated my powers of—of endurance.337I—I should be very pleased to give the last dance toyou. I left it empty.”

But he shook his head.

“I have not danced all evening; I do not wish tomake myself conspicuous now.”

“We could sit it out.”

“We might; but I am contrary.”

Then Rosalie went up to him and put her handvery gently in his arm, and almost whispered:

“I have a feeling of insecurity that grows withalmost every hour. It may be childish, but I neverprofessed to be much different from a child. When Istay with you it leaves me more or less, and alwayshas done from the very first I met you. And nowBrightcoat has left me, and I feel quite alone, a thinghardly enviable in any sphere. And I’ve gonethrough the evening as best I could, and tried to getthe better of my weakness.” And then she laughedand drew her hand away, and said: “If suchconfessions are unusual, you only have this dressto thank for it. The jewels have magnetic power,and draw me to the owner.”

At this he turned round from the window andlooked at her, and a very curious smile curved on hislips.

“That’s your solution, is it?” he said, and scratchedhis head thoughtfully with one finger. Then headded: “My mother said I was to thank you for thestone you sent her.”

“Was she well?”

“Yes. At the first stroke after midnight I goagain to her. These guests will then have alldeparted.”

“I, too.”

338“You say that sadly.”

“The magnetism of the stone I sent her draws meto your mother.”

Just then Everard entered the room, carrying in hishand a large sealed envelope addressed to Rosalie.At the back it was sealed with the image of theSerpent.

“You, Everard?” said Mr. Barringcourt, with somesurprise.

“I heard the door bell ring, and knew it was noordinary guest of the evening.”

She took and opened it. A summons to appearbefore the High Priest’s court, and on the morrowmorning, this first day of the New Year.

She read it through, half mystified, the truth withsome difficulty dawning upon her. Then on a suddenshe handed it to Mr. Barringcourt, her face as whiteas the background of her dress, and he in his turnread it. Then he turned to Everard and said:

“Who brought this?”

“A priest who, with his companion, waits outside.I did not let them in.”

Master and man looked at one another, the samegrim smile half visible upon each face. Then Mr.Barringcourt took out his watch and looked at it.

“It wants still twenty minutes till the dance isended. It is barely twenty minutes after twelve.Are they impatient of delay?”

“I did not ask them.”

“We’ll go upon the supposition that they’repatient.” Then turning to Rosalie, he continued:“There was a time you told me that you scorned torun away, and never had done. Afterwards, uponmuch less occasion, you trusted to the fleetness of339your feet. And now? Are you prepared to meetthe enemy?”

“Indeed, no. Or perhaps I cannot tell. If youstood for council on my behalf I think I might enjoyit. For myself, I could never get much farther thanthe truth.”

“A marvellous short journey, with a sudden ending,but little reckoned upon Lucifram. What think youof lifetime imprisonment, Rosalie?”

“Ah! It is that that frightens me. I never likedthe thought of prison. Must I really go?”

“What plan of escape is there?”

Her brow knitted thoughtfully; then suddenlyclearing, she said:

“Take me away with you. Take me to yourmother?”

And she looked so very beautiful, with somethingso imperious in her manner, yet so sweet, that littlewonder if the Master consented.

“It’s a long journey, and a very final one, and,moreover, my horses are black.”

“I’ll trust to the rule of contrary where you’reconcerned, and trust you too. Take me whereyou will. I have sufficient power given me of myown to guard against a vital evil.”

“You trust me to a certain point. No farther.”

She laughed.

“I trust you altogether, but wish to show it isnot quite from weakness I wish to come withyou.”

“Then we’ll go. My mother is hospitable, and so areothers round about her. Some are better known toyou, no doubt, than she. A stranger is a rarity amongthem. You will be welcomed.”

340“Alas! But who can travel in a dress like this—atmidnight, in the depth of winter? It is soconspicuous.”

“No dress could be so suitable. Safe-guardedagainst wind or snow, and simple in comparisonof those where we are going. Heat or cold,darkness or light cannot touch it. It was sewn inthe inner darkness, and shines in the inner light.Come, Rosalie, the time is up. We must away tosee the sun rise on the New Year.”

Then he led her through those great empty roomsinto the fuller ones, where general hilarity precededthe closing of the dance. But here they never waited.Across the palm-house to the doors of glass with theimage of the toad and temple so finely and so clearlyworked in them.

At one touch they both flew open, and there,flooded in a tide of light—red—red—and anaccompanying silence. It travelled swiftly, yetwithout sound or violence into the rooms of feastingand of mirth, carrying silence and a vague alarm.And noting where it came from, the guests instinctivelycrowded out towards that curious garden, onwhich faced the real front of Marble House.

And there, below the terrace steps, upon the widecarriage drive, stood a chariot of gold, with seats ofcrimson velvet, and harnessed to it the six blacksteeds, with tossing heads and eyes of fire, strong,and sleek, and slim.

One youth alone stood at the foremost bridle.And in the midst of all this ruddy glamour shonethe pure whiteness of Rosalie’s robe, with all itsflimsy showers of lace and jewels. And there besidethe carriage step stood Mariana, the frog upon her341shoulder, and with her Everard, who had precededthem.

Then Rosalie stepped in lightly and gracefully,and sat down. Mariana bent forward, and with thegrace peculiar to her arranged the spreading trainabout her feet. Then looking up, with mutual feelingeach drew an arm round the other’s neck and kissed.Rosalie whispered:

“You will follow, Mariana, and we’ll meet again, inno land of shadows, red or black, but in the sunlight.And you’ll bring Everard. A little company alongthe road is most desirable. But for the present,good-bye!”

And then the Master, gathering the long reins inhis hand as he sat down beside her, wrung Everard’shand, and seeing Mariana held her hand toward himtoo, bent over it and kissed it, by that one actundoing all the past in which she suffered throughhim.

The Master shook the reins. A thousand tinglingstars shook from them upon and round about thecoal-black steeds. One wild bound forward all inunison, not on a straight road, but up some climbingsteep.

Rosalie turned round. And laughing, half in fearand half in happiness, kissed her hand to Brightcoat.

“Good-bye—till—till we meet again!”

Then the Master turned round also, a face veryunlike to hers.

His face was dark and shadowy as it ever had been.The same contemptuous curl lay on his firm lips; amocking laughter was in his eyes. His glance fellupon Marble House, and the guests all drawn towardsthe terraces.

342With his free hand he felt in the pocket of the longcoat he wore.

“I forgot to leave my New Year’s presents,Rosalie,” said he, and brought out a large handfulof precious stones, flinging them down to Lucifram.Then drawing out another, he handed these toRosalie, and bade her throw them too.

They fell among the crowd, who gathered themand praised their beauty.

But the six black steeds with little apparent effortclimbed up the steep mountain-side, or so it seemedto be. And gradually the red light disappeared, andLucifram along with it, and darkness followed.

And now there was nothing but the wind and icysnow and loneliness—nothing but the path. Nothingwas to be seen on either side.

The spirited steeds, wild as ocean foam, flew upand on the mountain track, the winds moaned afterthem with a song as wild, as full of sad complaint, asif they were embodied spirits of the sighs and tearsof broken hearts.

But no feeling of cold came near Rosalie. Thejewelled robes encased her, proof against everything.And gradually it seemed as if the darkness gave wayto a glimmering of light. At first it was feeble, butgrew in distinctness, steady, and still steadier.

Suddenly a ray of brilliant light—light that couldnever blind the eyes—shot straight across the path.Then came another, another, following thick and fastfrom every direction.

Swiftly the coal-black horses changed in theflooding light to purest white, visions of inexpressibleand perfect beauty. Rosalie’s heart beat faster withsudden, unexpected joy. She looked up at the343Master, her own face transfigured by the light, asso was his. For all the weariness, all the contempt,all the dark shadows, had vanished from his features,and left nothing but what was full of life, of vigour,and of kindliness. His eyes, still dark and deep,looked into hers, the first time on the long andperilous journey, and he said, laughing, as sometimesof old:

“Do you prefer looking at me to the magnificenceof all this scenery?”

But she clasped his arm in both her hands, andleaned her forehead against his shoulder.

And suddenly he brought the horses to a check,and drawing her still closer, bent his head and kissedher cheek. Then she looked up with eyes all wetwith tears, and bright with happiness, and drawingback a little, said:

“I never thought that things would come out thisway. I—I never imagined that black horses couldcome out white—nor you become so altered.”

He laughed.

“It all depends upon the journey that I take.Sometimes I cross upon another rainbow, that leadsus all down hill from Lucifram at almost break-neckspeed. Then neither I nor these, my horses, altermuch. But look, Rosalie, round about you. Thisis a scene worth seeing and remembering.”

He stood up, and giving her his hand, helped herto her feet.

And then she saw that streams of light and rainbowgarlands were flung from a thousand spheres to meetthis central road, itself a giant rainbow crossing fromLucifram (a tiny speck of gleaming red in the far, fardistance) towards a country quite unsurpassed for344loveliness. And all around, from the different worldsof light, came scenes of fairyland.

And now she saw a towered city folded in night,the change from day; and here the bright sunshineof mid-day glinting upon a noble river, with sloping,tree-clad hills, and meadows smooth and green.

Again the sun was setting behind a sea of goldenglory, on whose restless surface danced three roundboats inlaid with pearl. And in the boats sat threemaidens of exquisite beauty, attended by the gentlewind, their servant, who wafted them towards thedistant shore. And as they went they sang a songthat trembled sweetly on the air and reached in thesoft silence to that golden car, ringing tones ofhappiness and joy.

So on around: a thousand scenes, and all delightful,delicate yet clear, country and city all in perfectionspread out everywhere. And each sphere was linkedto each with garlands of lights, so that the nimblespirit crossed on them, a perfect path of beauty.

Rosalie looked and breathed a sigh of admiration.Then her eyes travelled to the path which they werecrossing. The steep part had been passed. Therenow remained only a lesser portion, and that slopedgently down. This remaining part was free fromdanger. Pillars of light garlanded with flowersguarded the sides.

The horses, unwearied with the night’s long race,moved slowly towards this nearing country, overwhose waking sky the bright dawn was spreadingwings of glory, with silver flutings right east towest. The descent led to a regal city, wherenothing mean or sordid, no toil and tribulation, noanxious care or killing sorrow, no oppression, no345dark deeds, no foul disease, no hardened priests orcreeds had ever come. But all was God, the essenceof immortal greatness.

And to this city came Rosalie, led by him whomsome had called on Lucifram the Master. And beingall tired with the journey, Rosalie fell asleep just asthey were entering the gates.

For no traveller from a darker sphere can enterthere unweary. The soft air, too strong for them,wafts the frail form to tender sleep, that it undergothe great and immortal change.

The sound of laughter and welcome, Heaven’struest music of joy, and then for us a silence.

So ends a little chapter in the life of Lucifram.A chapter that bore indirectly upon the Serpent, andhelped gradually to its undoing. But that’s anothertale.

GREENING & Co.,Ltd.,

18 & 20, CECIL COURT,

CHARING CROSS ROAD,

October, 1903:

LONDON, W.C.

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The Day of Prosperity. A vision of thecentury to come, byPaul Devinne. Crown 8vo, cloth,6s.

Daily Telegraph.—“It is a clever story, with some strikinglynovel views on political and social economy, and contains muchgenuine reflection and foresight.”

Out of the Past. Stories of the Ancient EastbyH. G. F. Spurrell. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.

Athenæum.—“The stories—three in number—are concernedwith the horrors and splendours of the mighty monarchies whichshared, in ancient days, the dominion of the East, pre-Roman andpre-Mohammedan. It must be said he (Mr. Spurrell) has painted abold picture in lurid colours; like the art of Assyria, its bulls andlions, it is splendid and impressive.”

Scotsman.—“Full of life and incident, there are eventsrecorded of a nature that simply appals. Will be read with greatinterest. The writer knows his subject thoroughly, and writes well,and with dramatic effect.”

Literary World.—“The scenes are placed in the very far-distantpast, when Nineveh and Babylon were still unbuilt, and inthe ‘Baratarias’ of the ancient world. There is some reminiscenceof the Arabian Nights in them, and in barbaric splendour and recklessbloodshed they rival the productions of Mr. Rider Haggard.As pictures of what may have been, they are replete with excitementand incident. Mr. Spurrell writes well.”

British Weekly.—“‘Out of the Past’ takes us into the changelessEast. The Author wears a magic veil, he sleeps and awakeswith wondrous Oriental romances in his brain. They are wild andfull of terrors, but they are fruits of a brisk imagination.”

A Heroine of Reality. A novel byPercyVincent Donovan. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.

Literary World.—“Written in an attractive style. The descriptionof Swiss scenery is carefully done, and the story as a wholewill be read with interest.”

Vanity Fair.—“The story is briskly and effectively told.”

To-Day.—“Picturesquely staged amid the mountains and valleysof Switzerland. The interest of this powerful story is centred in anunhappy middle-aged woman’s taint of drunkenness, and this secretvice forms the pivot around which the love story of three men forher daughter revolves. The characters are well drawn, and distinctlymore human than those one is accustomed to meet in the averagenovel.”

Daily Despatch.—“The Book abounds in many fine situations.It is an interesting though daring novel.”

The Ice Maiden. A society novel by “LadyFrivol.” Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d.

Whitehall Review.—“The writer has a very pretty gift ofcharacter drawing. The characters of the vain and flimsy societywomen are drawn with care, knowledge, and vigour.”

Glasgow Herald.—“This tale abounds in romantic sentiment,and in delineations of smart society.”

Free Lance.—“A strange and lively tale.”

Liverpool Courier.—“A society story on daringly originallines.... A charming story of modern fashionable life. Thebook abounds in unexpected situations, some of which are keenlyhumourous, and the different characters talk like men and women.”

Daily Express.—“Smart repartee and scathing conclusions onthe ways and manners of modern society life.”

British Weekly.—“A lively love story.”

The Staff in Flower. A novel by an anonymousWriter. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.

Bookman.—“It has, what so many novels have not, a definitepurpose and a bold originality of outlook. It is a book which makesone curious to know who wrote it.”

Morning Leader.—“Written with undoubted strength andthought, and vigour of language.”

Christian World.—“A story which, despite some boldness, isstrong and original.”

Lloyd’s News.—“It is a distinctly clever book, with many finepassages in it, and reading it is anything but a tiring task.”

Scotsman.—“Striking incidents in a wasted, miserable life arerelated in this story.... A singularly tragic incident brings to aclose a story in which there is a curious admixture of the humorousand the pathetic.”

The World.—“The vigour and boldness, recklessness indeed,with which theories are advanced, conclusions are rather wrenchedthan drawn, and flung at the reader’s head, give the book anattraction.”

POPULAR SIXPENNY EDITIONS

The Cry In the Night. 6d.

ByArnold Golsworthy (“Jingle” of “Pick-me-up.”)

The Angel of the Chimes. 6d.

ByFortuné du Boisgobey.

The Convict Colonel. 6d.

ByFortuné du Boisgobey.

Jack Sheppard. 6d.

ByW. Harrison Ainsworth.

Dick Turpin; or “Rookwood.” 6d.

ByW. Harrison Ainsworth.

Drink (L’Assommoir). 6d.

ByEmile Zola.

Dan Leno: Hys Book. 6d.

Written byDan Leno.

Daughters of Pleasure. 6d.

ByAnne Comtesse de Bremont, author of “A Sonof Africa,” “The Gentleman Digger,” &c.

The Pottle Papers. 6d.

Written bySaul Smiff. Illustrated byL. Raven Hill.

Seven Nights with Satan. 6d.

ByJ. L. Owen, author of “The Great Jekyl Diamond.”

In Monte Carlo. 6d.

ByHenryk Sienkiewicz, author of “Quo Vadis?”

Sapho. 6d. ByAlphonse Daudet.

Some Legends of the Fells. 6d.

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The Adventures of Ulysses. 6d.

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